when cleanliness is definitely next to impossible

Allow me to paint you a picture.

It's Saturday afternoon. I've just gotten home from my work out, I'm covered in sweat and ready to peel off my clothes and get in the shower to get ready for my second date with Bachelor Numero Uno. I turn the faucet in the kitchen to refill our water pitcher, only to find that we have no water.

This is clearly problematic.

I call my roommate, who calls the landlord. No response. I wait. I wait some more. Finally, after about an hour I hear water running in the bathroom. Relieved, I assume that the water's back on and we're go for launch. I get in the shower, get my hair lathered up with shampoo, turn around to grab the soap and the unthinkable happens. The sound of the water running through the pipes gets quieter, and all I can do is watch in horror as the pressure weakens and the last little drops of water drip out. Because it seemed like the constructive thing to do, I yell for a good few minutes directly at the shower head, begging it to pretty pretty PLEASE WITH CHERRIES ON TOP start working again. No dice.

Finally, I give up and get out of the shower, my hair still soapy. I send a text to BNU to apprise him of the situation. And that's when things really got ridiculous.

I hear the water again. I make a mad dash for the bathroom, whacking my elbow into the door frame as I swerved around the corner in my haste to leap back into the tub. This time I know I can't take the water for granted, so I'm moving quickly. I rinse and re-shampoo, I throw on conditioner and I start frantically shaving a leg. And right there, Mach 3 in mid-glide over my calf, half my leg covered in shaving cream and my hair saturated with conditioner, the water once again trickles to a stop. I think this time my reaction involved less begging and sounded more like this: Really? REALLY? Are you (MANY MANY EXPLETIVES DELETED).

At this point I'm desperate. What does conditioner do when left in your hair to dry? Would my scalp crust over? Would my hair become one giant soapy brick? Would I spend the next week trying to rinse out all that slime? I took the last bit of water left in the pitcher (ice cold from the fridge) and tried to use it to rinse my hair. Mostly that just resulted in me awkwardly flinging water against the side of the sink and missing my locks by a disturbing long shot.

About 20 minutes later the water finally returned, just long enough for me to finish my shower and shave my legs with such frantic fear that I sliced myself open in at least three different places. Two hours behind schedule, I met up with BNU for our second date. Things you should know about the evening:

1. We went bowling. I love to bowl. My first date ever with my first boyfriend ever also involved a trip to a bowling alley; however, this boy made the cardinal mistake of not telling me that we would be hitting up the lanes, and I was not appropriately dressed for such an occasion. I blocked out most of that game, probably since I spent a large part of it pulling down my sweater and yanking up my pants.

2. My theory about improving as a bowler after ingesting a certain amount of beer is only actually true for about four frames during the middle of the second game. Before that point, I haven't had enough beer, and after that point I've apparently had just enough to wail one into the gutter and then put up a sporting argument for my claim that bowling is actually one of those sports where the low score wins. You didn't know that, either?

3. I need you to take what I'm about to tell you extremely literally. Because after having told this story three times, and even prefacing it with that very warning two of those three times, I find people still have a hard time understanding what I'm trying to say, probably because they are filthy, filthy sinners whose minds are in the gutter, right down there with Satan. Ahem: After we went bowling, BNU and I went to Queens, where I had for the first time a Colombian hot dog. (Take as long as you need with that one.) It's topped with a green sauce and a pink sauce -- the green one tasting sort of like pickles and the pink one vaguely resembling special sauce -- and then sprinkled on top with crushed potato chips. I know, that doesn't sound right, but trust me. It was yummy. Or however you say that in Spanish.


cheers,
elizabeth