There’s a new term in the bush called a “jug bath”, pegged courtesy of myself and Howard.
Let me set the scene of origin:
I’m standing in the shower making the most of my two minutes(that’s all we can have because we need to conserve water for other things, trust me we have it down to a science…or so I think) unwinding after a hectic weekend and I’d just slathered my mane with conditioner and soaped up when the water pressure takes a nosedive and ends at a trickle then a slow “drip-drip-drip”, heart sinking I yell “Oh sh*t!” hoping it’s not what I think it is.
Howard comes running to see what all the ruckus is about and I tell him to check the tanks. Sure enough, it’s what I think it is. We’ve run out of water again. This is the second time it’s happened to me in the shower. Funny…it never happens to Howard.
Howard, knowing the drill from the previous time, returns to the bathroom with two one-gallon jugs of distilled water(water that costs 5 bucks a gallon, remember, everything is flown in here so the heavier the product, the higher the retail). I brace myself as he pours the icy (notice it never feels cold when you want it to) water over my hair and down my body. I start to shiver and he starts to laugh…and laugh…and laugh. So glad he’s amused! He redeemed himself by wrapping me in one of the luxurious overpriced bathsheets I bought online a few weeks ago and toweled my dripping hair. I even got a smooch out of him. What a guy!
And what an idiot I am for not checking the tanks the last night before water is delivered again. “Down to a science”. Who am I kidding?
Shoulda checked the tanks first. Well at least I’m clean…and I’d damn well better be at five bucks a gallon.