As I was taking my shower last night, and enjoying the feeling of the hot water on my back, I thought of my mother and her aversion to water.
My grandmother said that even as a child, my mom would have a fit if the bathwater was too deep. She never liked swimming, and seemed to consider showers almost sinful. After she broke her hip, she had to use a bath chair and a hand-held shower head. “I never feel clean. I really need to soak.”
It would never have occurred to my sister or me to use the shower at home, and the house where I lived with the Late & Unlamented didn’t even have one. The first shower I ever had (not counting those horrible mad dashes after gym class in high school) was when I was 30, living on my own after parting ways with the L & U.
Growing up, my sister and I were only allowed three baths a week – one on Saturday night so we’d be clean for church, one on Tuesday and another on Thursday. My mom claimed we didn’t sweat in the winter and in the summer there wasn’t anybody around to smell us. I’m sure that if she could have figured a way to cut it back to twice a week, she would have.
And a once a week shampoo in the stationary tub in the basement. Who needed greasy kid stuff? By Friday, our hair stuck to our heads as if it had been plastered on.
thisendoftheswamp 
Nice swan dive into the pool of memories! 🙂