If It's All The Same To You, I Actually Prefer To Shower Alone

No, I'm not heading toward a shower reveal to rival Psycho. No stabby music links for you. But you MAY feel my horror. 

I said HORROR. Not that w-h word that a fifth grade student misheard from my fifth-best old ex-teaching buddy, Jim, when he announced on the first day of school back in 1984 that if students didn't turn in their homework, he would be a holy horror. In fact, that young lass inquired at her very own dinner table that night, in her very own home, to her very own parents, one of whom was a school board member, "Can a man be a wh*re? Because my teacher said he would turn into one if we don't do our homework."

Not that I wouldn't let you feel my w-h word if I had one. Because if I did, he/she would be already paid for. So I suppose that would not be frowned on. Though I don't know if a w-h word is paid by the hour or by the feel. But in the interest of good faith, if I subjected you to feeling my w-h word, I would pay extra if need be.

Anyhoo... last Wednesday, I slid open the front shower door to turn on the water and let it heat up. It's a very '80s shower. One little step in, as long as a bathtub (though it's not a bathtub combo, since we have the big triangle tub), with double doors of that opaque glass, with gold metal trim. Yes. Very '80s, although built in 1997.

Anyhoo... I had disrobed, felt the spray to approve the temperature, and stepped my left foot in when I SAW IT! 

I WAS NOT ALONE IN THE SHOWER!

In the back corner, to my right, stood...

DUN DUN DUNNNNN! THE TOILET PLUNGER!

Oh, the HORROR! Nobody wants to shower with a toilet plunger! Am I right? We know where those things have been! And I do not associate such a place as somewhere I would immerse my unclothed body with the purpose of getting it CLEANER!

Dang that darn Farmer H!

I'd heard a noise overhead from my lair on Tuesday evening. A pounding. A rhythmic pummeling of something. In fact, I'd asked Farmer H, when I ascended to the main level for supper preparations, if something was wrong up there. I didn't want a mystery. My mind has a tendency toward outlandish scenarios. Like perhaps he was stomping a herd of rats that had fallen out of the ceiling. Not that such a thing has ever happened, of course. Just those two little field mice in the ceiling light/fan.

Farmer H had divulged that he indeed made that commotion while he was plunging the shower drain! Oh, dear. Is that a thing? I know that hair can clog up a shower drain. Even though we have a gold-colored disc thingy with holes in it that I assumed would stop too much hair. Sweet Gummi Mary! It's not like THE PONY showers in there!

Then the added horror of it hit me. How Farmer H uses the shower as his personal bidet, eschewing toilet paper. Eww! How wrong were those last three words used together?

Anyhoo... I backed out of the shower, slid the doors the other way, and lifted the toilet plunger out of the shower.

I prefer to shower alone.