The Shower

My wife doesn’t like to shower. I can’t explain it. Neither can she.

When I come home from work the first thing I do is get in there. Every day. Half an hour at least. Sometimes I can convince her to get in with me and mostly when that happens we do it. Sometimes we just stand in there together and warm up. She gets cold easily, like most women.

She works hard at her job. She’s a curator at a gallery. Something like that. I think she likes it. I say to her Don’t you want to have a shower after your long day of curating? She mostly just likes to correct me on her job title and then get back to her reading. She’s always reading. I’m always showering. Sometimes I wonder if we’re compatible. I wonder what our children would look like. I’ve got a small face. She’s got blond hair. I find it hard to picture how they’d come out.

Funny thing. This happened a few months ago. I don’t know. Two months? I came home early from work and she was in the shower. I already told you that she doesn’t much care for the shower so this was very strange for me. I didn’t want to disturb her. I tried to be very still. I was David Attenborough or someone like that discovering this rare animal in it’s natural habitat. I listened to the sounds of this miniature world - the shower was a waterfall, the creaking pipes were animal sounds. I tried to peek through the crack in the door but it was so misty I couldn’t see anything. I pictured her in there. Pictured the water running over her hair and her body and it got me very hard but I didn’t want to do anything to disturb this rare bird I’d found. So I went quietly into the bedroom. I took off my shoes.

I waited in there for a long time before she finished her shower. I thought of what I’d say when she came in. See! Isn’t it great to have a shower? And then I’d take her in my arms. I’d take her in my arms and lie her down on the bed and then we’d do it. But when she came into the room she took one look at my face, my stupid, too-small face and then she burst out crying. I went to hold her. Was she worried about how our kids might turn out? Had she realised about my face? What’s wrong, I said. What’s the matter? Everything, she said. Just everything. I held her tightly. My thing was going limp against her leg. We need to talk, she said. I need to tell you something.

Oh, God, she said. Oh, God. I just don’t know where to begin.