The Shower

We're at No. 3 Price Street. It's just as it always was -- cozy and cold. After so many visits here, I no longer get nervous that the milk has been sitting on the kitchen counter for 9 hours -- no worries, the milk is frosty and fresh. The butter on the counter is difficult to scrape bits off of for toast, as if it's just been removed from the fridge. In the bathroom, my body lotion is the consistency of cream cheese. You can't imagine how cold that toilet seat is at 5am with the freezing wind roaring outside the window (but, remember, this is Australia, so the toilet is the name of a room, and it's a different room from where the shower, sink, and my body lotion are housed). Mum and Dad have the best shower in the world here. I've no idea what their shower is like in the master bedroom, but the one we use is something to look forward to each time we visit. I showered last night, and also this morning. It's the place one goes to warm up, without regard for or need of actual cleansing. It's a shower that laughs in the face of those low-flow options -- it's like a gale force in all the best ways. The word pummel comes to mind. And you could boil eggs in the heat of it. It's the hottest shower I've ever been in, and I like a full-on burning hot shower -- you know, the kind that reddens the skin. Bliss. When you consider that this house is cold enough to see your breath inside, that pots of soup sit on the counter and are frozen solid by morning, that we sleep in outdoor clothing and are still cold -- yes, the shower is the place to be. It's small, about 3 feet square, and has bamboo tiles on the walls. It's got an amber glass folding door that's very retro-chic. The tiles on the shower floor get so hot that there's a bit of a dance in there until you've developed what must be like scabs on the bottoms of your feet to protect you from the burn. But the showers taken in there are of legendary duration and pleasure. There's no need to wonder if the neighbors can see you in all your glory, because the room is so steamy that you can't see outside the shower -- it's like a boiling cloud of cotton candy. When, finally, it's time to pull yourself from its warmth and sit, wrapped in wool and polar fleece, in front of the fire with a hocho (Cadbury's, naturally) and a bikkie and a British period drama on the telly, it's the best place on earth to be. Until you have to go back into the cold part of the house. But, by then, you'll need another shower.