Being clean is all well and good, but one thing I don’t understand is how anyone can really enjoy the process of cleansing when they haven’t enjoyed the process of getting good and dirty beforehand. I’m not saying that I only get around to cleaning when things are dire, but if I’m going to devote any time to cleaning up one of the many messes I’m capable of making, I’d prefer to have earned it.
Thoroughly.
No one can deny that showering daily is more or less a pre-requisite for being accepted socially, but if you’re especially filthy, a hot shower transcends routine and becomes a sensory experience. Maybe I’ve just propelled myself from Flynn Avenue to Loomis on a long board, it’s a humid 90 degrees out, there’s a ring of dirt around the tops of my skate shoes and sweat has rendered my face shinier than any well-intentioned Neutrogena product could possibly combat. Or maybe I’ve just spent an entire Saturday crafting art from oil paint and cigarette ashes--I smell like glazing medium and citrus thinner, and I’ve got screenprinting ink all over my face. The post-snowboarding shower, when one is sore, probably bleeding from some crucial extremity, and both sweaty and cold, is always welcome.
One of the best showers of my life occurred after a night of what is referred to in these parts as “muddin,” which is essentially, gunning a fleet of battered four-wheel-drive pickups around a muddy field. I was covered in mud so thoroughly that no amount of brushing off my muddy pants with my muddy hands or wiping my muddy face with my muddy sleeve was going to do anything but smear it around. I slept in a car and woke up freezing, coated in what was a large quantity of dirt, and was never so grateful for a bathroom full of pleasantly scented bath products. The times that I’ve gotten truly dirty in a productive way are the times when I can feel completely justified in lathering, rinsing, and repeating as many times as I want to with no regard for water conservation or heating bills.
A clean apartment will always feel far more awesome after it’s had some time to ferment. Speaking as “The Girl Who Lived with Five Dudes,” I can claim authority on this one. After putting up with so much squalor, I would find the inspiration to spend an entire Friday night conquering the brownie batter and pasta sauce that had found its way to the kitchen floor, shepherding wayward Miller High Life cans to the mountainous collection of their brethren on the front porch, and Clorox-ing every square inch of the bathroom to ensure nothing organic could set up shop in some neglected corner, and lighting improbably-scented candles to make the whole scummy house smell like “Autumn Harvest” or “Clean Linen.” Waiting until after we’d had a massive party or had just neglected to do it for far too long always made the end result far more appreciated. Similarly, a clean car will be most satisfying after it accumulates the coffee cups, spare change, and general detritus of a thousand journeys. And does a freshly laundered sweatshirt or pair of jeans not feel that much better after you’ve pushed the very limit of their wearability over a weekend of spilled beers and cigarette smoke?
Cleanliness (which word on the street says is next to godliness, whatever the hell that means) is maybe not overrated, but definitely underappreciated. You have a constant stream of hot water and an endless assortment of soaps, washes, creams, conditioners, and scrubs at your disposal. Go make a mess and earn that shower. |
