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| (c) and courtesy Glamour.com |
Moving into a new apartment, I am struck by
the all-important issue of a man’s private shower – when does a new shower
actually become your own personal, secure, private space?
Make no doubt about it, I am an active, fit gay man who has done more than his
share of public showering at locker rooms, gyms, pools, and yes, even a bath
house or two (though my tastes tend to run more towards the ‘straight’
Russian-style baths such as Chicago’s famous Diversey Street wherein all sorts
of nefarious fantasies conceived by gay men give way to the even better
realities of watching the Black Hawks play while sitting in a hot tub sipping a
Jameson or two. Heck, I’m half-Swede,
I’ll even shower down at the beach or outside the family sauna in the country.
However, when it comes to one’s own private
shower – that sacred space into which one stumbles to begin one’s day, where one
confidently prepares for one’s evening outting, or where one relaxes after that
strenuous Saturday morning run, there is something special at work.
I am not sure that the type, shape or even
luxurious qualities of a shower are as important as that demarcation of
private, personal space. Yes, I’m
Freudian enough to find some sort of womblike comfort within the stream of the
steamy hot water.
The shower is that place wherein we are
most personal, most vulnerable and most naked.
Even in our bedrooms, Danielle Steele and Madison Avenue have converted
the bedroom into a mitigated or semi-public space wherein we never truly
expect, or allow ourselves to look like we failed to expect company or
intrusions. Only in the shower can we
expect to be alone.
To understand the personal privacy and
security of the shower, one has to retreat into the exemplified world of the
women’s toilette. Think of Bridget
Jones, How to Marry a Millionaire,
or some of the most memorable moments from Trans-America.
The shower is the place where you prick,
pimp, pop, inspect, pinch, pull and plop.
It is the place where you take stock of, acknowledge and then camouflage
the reality which you present to others – be they colleagues, family, romantic
interests or anyone. It all takes place
in the shower.
The only place of comparable space would be
the toilet and while that might be a similar space of refuge and security, it
is not a place of relaxation and self-exploration similar to the shower.
So, the question returns, at what point
does one claim a shower as one’s own? When
and how does a new shower in a new space become that personalized interior
place?
The act of showering neither implies nor requires a sense of
privacy. One showers to become clean –
one might even shower simply to be seen.
But what is it that separates the practical freshness of a hotel shower
from the relaxing sense of home and well-being that one gets from one’s own
private douche?
To me, the difference is destination versus
facility. In other words, my shower
becomes my place of refuge when I retreat into it for reasons other than to get
clean or wash my hair. Instead of going
elsewhere to relax, I retreat to the shower for a moment of personal
intellectual and emotional intimacy with myself to gather my thoughts and to
recharge my batteries.
And gay people, we need our refuges. Not only do we deal with the job stresses and
relationship issues of everyone else, but we have all that extra blessing that
comes from being different in a society that often doesn’t much value such
differences. We are stressed from being
expected to do more at work to compensate for heterosexual co-workers with kids,
or from mitigating and circumventing all those extra barriers erected by those
who do not approve of the gay lifestyle or who are merely uncomfortable with
it.
One of my best shower experiences
was also my worst – the night I was kicked out of my church for being gay. The shower was the only place where I could
go and be alone – and feel safe. I had
two well-chilled ciders and spent maybe an hour-and-a-half under the steamy
streams of blessedly comforting water, crying to myself and figuring things
out.
In answer to my original question, perhaps
a shower becomes your own at that point when you know that you can just turn it
on without adjusting the water, or knowing that just that amount of turn brings
out water that is just the right temperature – or when you can instinctively
reach for the showerhead or knobs with soap in your eyes. This is the point at which it becomes the place you can move beyond pinching
and primping to crying and self-collecting in your own space.
As for the worst intrusion into this
personal space – definitely, without a doubt and many a substantiating scream –
SPIDERS! Two-leggers are greatly
encouraged to join in, most four-leggers are welcomed as well, but no
eight-leggers – this is my shower, please leave me alone.
(842 words)
(c) Agassiz Media & Consulting, 2012
All this greenery even tweaked with white, yellow and purple
foliage gets, umm, a trifle monotonous.
Five or six blue horses scattered about help and so do the large blue
pots I’ve put around. When I worked at
Gethsemane Gardens in Chicago I learned (Plant Pot Perfection I) from Carol
Rice who trained all the folk in her section how to wow the customers. Example:
large red/purple ti plant at rear, garten-meister fuschias next (green
& white with pale orange blooms), and chartreuse creeping jenny over the
edge of the blue pot. Or – red-leafed
canna in back, two miniature yellow tropical evergreens next, three tall
verbena bonariensis between them and purple and green striped zebrinas
(wandering Jews) tumbling over the edge.
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