Its like camping…

When I was a kid my parents used to ship me off to sleep away camp at Camp Wanica that sits on the edge of East Texas. This adventure of overnight camp lasted for one (yes one) brief week that included a panic attack and sleeping one of those 5 nights in my own bed at my own house. But thats another story for another time.

Anyways, I have a really vivid memory of showering at camp. I think that when I was there I did it maybe a total of 3 times. 9 year old me was not yet into personal hygiene and the showers freaked me out. We had two choices for showering; either you could cram yourself into the brand new shower house that was filled to capacity and everything was damp and gross OR you could shower in the ancient bath houses that were home to all the dirt dobbers in Texas.

My camp counselor made the decision that our cabin would be using the ancient bath houes. I’m sure she had a logical reason behind choosing the ancient one–we could actually shower and it was closer…

But it was gross. (I’m not one for public, communal showering… it’s a wonder I made it through 2 years of living in a college dorm. Thank goodness for abandoned showers at 2 am) The showers also had a feeling of rapist behind the shower curtain .

The one at the new house hase the same feeling.

Old tiles, poor water pressure, dark, window adjacent…

I need xanax just to take a shower and survive a potential home invading rapist.

Especially since my big scary dog doesn’t guard much more than my king size bed with her subconscious.

Maybe Michael will be back soon.

He’ll pretend to protect me—at least he can distract them while I escape. (JUST KIDDING)

–Jessica G.

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