(November 28th 2006)

‘I’m just going for a shower, OK?’ Judging by the pained expression on my girlfriend’s face, you’d think I’d just asked permission to defecate in her mouth. ‘Do you have to?’ she groans. ‘Well…yeah, I do actually. If that’s OK with you.’ She sighs. ‘I suppose. It’s just that the bath’s clean just now. If you take a shower I’ll have to clean it again.’ ‘It’s cool, I can rinse the shower down once I’ve finished’ I shrug. ‘No, it needs to be done properly’ she insists.
In the four weeks I have been at home for, I haven’t cleaned the shower ‘properly’ once. Not because I am unwilling but because my girlfriend always showers straight after me in the morning and then spends the remainder of the morning scrubbing the spotless shower clean. Now I am about to learn her trade secrets, so that I too can leave the shower so shiny it can only be viewed through a pair of Men In Black shades. ‘It needs to be done properly’ lectures the Grand Master of Flash Shower Shine. ‘But it only takes five minutes’ she adds helpfully. ‘Five minutes?’ I repeat incredulously. ‘That’s longer than my shower!’ ‘Look - just have your shower and leave the mess’ replies my girlfriend, vexed at the frivolity with which I am treating the serious matter of bathroom cleanliness. ‘I’ll clean it myself during the ad break for Ghost Whisperer.’ ‘You know, I’m not a retard - show me how you would like your shower to be cleaned and I’ll clean it.’ ‘OK’ replies my girlfriend and before I can utter another word, I have been whisked through to the bathroom and inducted into the ways of the Shaolin Shower Shiners.
‘It’s simple’, she begins, ‘you take the blue cloth, wring it out in warmish water and wipe the outside of the screen door so that there are no water droplets left and the glass is spotless before repeating the same on the inside of the door. Then wipe down the metal hinges, rub the taps clean so they shine and do the same with the shower head and flex. Next you need to lift up these shampoo bottles sitting on the corner of the bath and dry underneath them. Clean and dry all along the edge of the bath and also along the front of it so that it’s immaculate. Then lift up the toiletries holder and dry all along there, clean all around the inside of the bath, clean the cloth, wring it out and hang it on the edge of the bath. And finally, push the shower door in so that it’s hanging in line with the shower and everything looks nice and neat.’
I stare at her, agape, trying to take in everything that I have just been told. There’s no way in hell I’m going through that rigmarole after taking a shower. I'll rinse the bath out when I'm done, but that's as good as she's gonna get. I walk through to the bathroom and take my shower, as planned. And then do you know what I do next? That’s right, I squeeze out a huge steaming turd into the bath and proceed to smear it all over the walls before summoning my girlfriend through and screaming ‘Clean that, bitch!’ Actually, that’s not quite how it happens. I do take my shower, as planned, but then a strange thing happens: upon stepping out of the bath, I find myself reaching for the blue cloth. And then, even more strangely, I find myself wringing it out in warmish water. Before I know it, I’ve wiped the outside of the screen door so that there are no water droplets left and the glass is spotless, I’ve repeated the same on the inside of the door, I’ve wiped down the metal hinges, rubbed the taps clean so they shine and done the same with the shower head and flex, I’ve lifted up the shampoo bottles sitting on the corner of the bath and dried underneath them, I’ve cleaned and dried all along the edge of the bath and also along the front of it so that it’s immaculate, I’ve lifted up the toiletries holder and dried all along there, cleaned all around the inside of the bath, cleaned the cloth, wrung it out and hung it on the edge of the bath. And finally, I’ve pushed the shower door in so that it’s hanging in line with the shower and everything looks nice and neat.
Why did I do it? I’m not sure. Maybe I thought that by keeping in my girlfriend’s good books I’d have a better chance of getting my dick sucked later. Or maybe I was just scared to disobey the imperious house matron’s orders. Whatever my reasons for shower shining like I’ve never shone before, I know one thing for sure: this house husband isn't pussy whipped - he's pussy flogged.