Mark My Words: So Dirty

Showering—it’s more than just hot water. It’s passion. It’s caressing your soft skin and savoring the warmth of your body. It’s beautiful alone time with your own naked figure.

At school, our thoughts are smart. In the shower, our thoughts are sexy. It’s where I find my muse. For instance, what if Beyoncé were 16 again and looking to date a scrawny Jewish teenager? Or what if the school dress code became restricted to strictly bikinis?

The shower—so clean but so dirty—a place of wild dreams and soapy reality. It’s irresistible and routine.

But about a week ago, I found myself at Camp Everytown, a messy adventure in the middle of the woods, the last place on Earth you would not want to shower. And because I would never do it, I had to do it anyway. I decided, for my four days at camp, to never take a shower.

And so I did, forcing my fellow campers to learn about a whole other kind of tolerance. Together we roamed the woods, dove in creeks, learning about diversity as our bodies gleamed with sweat. I learned how to give great big, smelly hugs where you love so much you can’t let the other person go.

When you squeezed my hair onto a pan, there was enough grease to cook an omelet. And because I had used conditioner before camp, the omelet had volume. It was smooth and silky and smelled a bit like flowers.

My hair made me look more intelligent, more Einstein-esque. People asked complex questions, like what time it was, because they assumed I had the answer.

But it hurt more than just my absurdly good looks—it affected my demeanor. I no longer had my alone time with my body and I missed my own touch. I hadn’t had a sexy thought in days.

I became paranoid that I smelled funky. I would walk up to people, thrust my armpit into their nose, and yell, “SMELL IT! DO I SMELL?” Some would lie to me, but when they turned away to vomit, I knew the truth.

Beyond paranoia, I realized showering was more than entertainment. It was a hygienic necessity. Warm water and glorious suds may be fun, but they also make you socially acceptable. No one wants to be around someone who looks and smells like a septic tank.

So when I got home and finally stepped in that shower, I got the dirtiest idea of all. What if instead of going four days without a shower, I had to go four months or four years or a lifetime? What would Beyoncé say then?

The point is some kids don’t get to shower every morning, and milky bubble baths are out of the question. Some kids get one shower once a week, some maybe never. So next time someone complains to you that they couldn’t find time to shower, do them a favor— invite them to shower with you. It just might be the cleanest—or dirtiest—thing you ever do.