On Hygiene in the Bleak Midwinter

     I would gladly join the whole non-bathing, natural resource saving movement we're seeing right now, if it were indeed, not bathing.  But they still take sponge baths.  Number one--that is way too active of a cleaning for me.  Secondly, it's like 62 degrees in my bathroom in the pre-dawn hours and who wants to stand there naked in the cold washing priority bits one by one?  It sounds like torture to me.  And while we're speaking of torture, I recoil at the thought of staring at my naked ass in the mirror, all goosebumps and Albert Einstein.  There's a daily espresso shot of self esteem I can do without.
     The takeaway from this is not that I'm slovenly, on the contrary, I bathe everyday.  But I hate it.  My shower-tub combination is not a full bathtub, it's a triangular-shaped shallow half-tub, just big enough to suffice as a shower floor.  I can sit in it and bathe, but once I'm in, there's really just enough room left for a few carrots and onions.
This is not a big place.
     If I lay down in the tub, my torso is submerged, but not only are my legs not in the tub with me, they are hanging out of the bathroom proper and into the hallway.  Shaving requires a multi-room logistical outline.
I'm talking small.
     I look back as I get up from my bathwater to see that what I displaced was almost enough to cook pasta.  The showering/bathing isn't really the issue, though, it's everything that comes once you pull that shower curtain aside.  It's the blow-drying, the moisturizing (too cold to moisturize, I'll do it tomorrow), the flossing, brushing, plucking, fluffing, puffing ritual that comes after.  Listen, everyone loves to have the carpets cleaned, but you still have to put all the furniture back when it's done.  And once cleaned, will the carpets still match the drapes?
     To sum up, I'm thrilled to have the geographical resources and opportunity to practice (without perfecting) the art of good hygiene, but secretly wish we could all be post-war England, valiantly going ripe for the cause, all stiff-upper-lipped and stinking of curry.  Or better yet, that we could stroll through some seven foot deep pool of drycleaning fluid just as we are, and walk out sparkling clean and furniture back in place.