Well, I did it. I took the plunge. I threw my robe to the floor, caution to the wind, and myself into the shower at approximately 5:05 p.m. EST, and, as I shivered like a scrawny, doe-eyed toddler abandoned on an orphanage porch on Christmas Eve, I faced the cold, hard truth:

I would rather be a slimy-skinned, stringy-haired, maggot-covered mess than endure the taunting, jeering leer of a cold, merciless shower.

If this ever happens again, I’m going to follow my cousin “Gundarva’s” lead.
Tomorrow I purchase a paring knife.