I don’t know what’s compelling me to document what follows below, but if you were ever curious about our habits in general, I’m leaving no stone unturned.
Your mom and I take showers together, but it’s very asexual. There is some element of intimacy perhaps in that we are doing something personal together in close quarters, but we get our business done. Typically, I’ll hang just my towel on the single hook next to the shower as we both jump in. I’ll soap myself in the left corner where your mother hates to stand because she feels trapped/claustrophobic there. By the time I’ve shampooed and soaped, your mother’s just about done rinsing her hair in preparation for the shampoo. Sometimes I’ll try and hang around a little longer because your mom’s convinced my showers are too quick for anyone to properly clean oneself.
After I exit and dry myself, I’ll grab your mother’s towel from the towel rail across the bathroom (the architects who designed the layout of the bathroom were really practical…) and hang it on the hook for her. She’ll usually be conditioning her hair at this point or washing off the soap. About five minutes later, after I’m dressed and ready for whatever, that’s when your mom turns off the shower. She prefers to crack open the door just enough so she can grab her towel and then yank it back into the shower stall where she’ll dry off. “It’s warmer,” she says.
She’ll occasionally forget to spray the shower doors with soap-scum solution, and I’m always more than happy to venture back in to perform the chore. Who says chivalry is dead?
And that, Fauchon, is our shower routine.