This is What Showers in Hell Must Be Like

Poor Amanda - she has a cute little studio near Union Station (just a block from the house from hell) with a huge closet, fireplace, and amazing bookshelf, but with the smallest water heater known to man.

She would complain of having to shower twice if she wanted to shave her legs. The hot water would run out so fast that she'd barely have time to rinse the conditioner from her hair before succumbing to icy spears of water driving into her back. The tragic thing is, she'd complained early on to her landlord, an elderly man who lives upstairs, about the lack of water, and he'd already replaced the water heater. So she's stuck.

And even though my shitty house had no fucking heat, it did have a bitchin' water heater. Even when I moved to the new place on Constitution Avenue, I enjoyed an amazing shower experience. Hell, I enjoyed an amazing bathroom experience. I had a bathroom to myself for the first time in over four years, so a bucket of water with holes poked in the bottom would have been fine with me as long as I didn't have to share.

Then I moved to my sweet little studio loft in Ann Arbor. This 100-year-old house boasts some amazing details, including hardwood floors, lots of windows, and an antique claw foot bathtub.

It's cute. But it's old. And so the first time I stepped into that tub for a shower, I was expecting the worst.

It... wasn't that bad. The water pressure was acceptable, and considering the age of the plumbing and the seemingly half-assed installation...

... I was prepared for either a trickle of water or an explosion. I wasn't really prepared for the actual result.

I don't know if it's just me and my OCD tendencies, but I have a set shower routine. Wash face, then body, followed by hair care. If I feel like shaving, or even if I don't, but if skipping shaving would likely scare small children, I'll throw that in after shampooing but before conditioning.

This has always worked for me and I've rarely deviated from this routine. Of course, this was before I realized that my hot water runs out after about five minutes.

Now, if you're like me, you like to enjoy your shower. You like to relax a little, feel warm, close your eyes and daydream about not going to work... Ahh... That's not really an option here. You get in, get out, and curse you for thinking that bathing was anything more than a necessary evil in life!

So here's my new routine:

~Start shower with the cold water turned up as high as one can bear.

~Step into shower, stifle a scream at the impact of what feels like water piped in from the Arctic, and wrestle with the two shower curtains. Attempt to seal the two together to prevent any warm air from entering your cocoon-like shower, but then remember that one must reach through the curtain to access products like soap:

~Wash face. Rinse. Slightly lower the cold water.

~Put soap on shower pouf. Slightly lower cold water.

~Wash body. Rinse. Slightly lower cold water.

~Sigh.

~Wash hair. Rinse. Slightly lower cold water.

~Condition hair. Attempt to wait a few minutes for conditioner to treat hair effectively. Feel the hot water fading and goosebumps forming.

~More than slightly lower col - wait! There's no cold water left! The only thing left is lukewarm "hot" water, and it's got a shelf life of about two minutes. Balls. (Also, say "balls" aloud.)

~Quickly rinse conditioner from hair, silently cursing about the headache one's sure to have when the comb gets stuck in a tangled bird's nest of hair.

~Turn off shower with foot, then turn off faucet with shivering hands.

~Instead of reaching for the towel immediately, use one's hands to squeegee off as much water as possible from the body.

~Take a deep breath, reach through the opening in the shower curtain, and blindly grab for the towel that YOU PRAY you remembered to hang there. From this point on, time is the enemy. Dry off as quickly as possible or risk losing your important parts to frostbite.

Right, so claw foot tubs are great: they're unique, charming, and comfortable... if you have a separate shower. I've taken lovely baths in my charming tub, practically scalding myself on the water, so why does the shower suck so hard?

I mean, I would just take a GD bath if it meant that the water would stay warm for more than a few minutes, but unless you're K-10, whose certifiable mother allowed only baths because showers left the bathroom "dirty," you'll feel as I do: baths are for relaxing, not bathing. I feel clean after a shower. I feel like I need a shower after a bath.

Weird? It's cool. I'm crazy.

And still shivering from my morning shower.