Not a quickie shower, either. I can shave my legs, slather on lotion, style my hair, apply makeup -- just like a non-mommy!
Now, before any hetero males reading this story get themselves in a lather (sorry!), I have to ruin your mental imagery. This is not the scene from "Porky's" you may be picturing. Because I typically work out in the morning, I tend to share the locker room and the showers with the octogenarian swim class called "Rusty Hinges." Any college co-eds or other nubile young things must work out in the afternoon or evening. I apologize for any disallusionment.
There are two sets of showers at my Y. One set is basically a row of nozzles without any partitions or curtains between them. Typically, these are used by women either entering or leaving the pool, wearing their suits.
The second set have partitions and curtains, allowing for privacy. As you might have already guessed, these are used by women for actual cleansing purposes. The two sets of showers face each other, parallel along two walls.
One morning, as I was luxuriating in my peaceful steamy retreat, I heard the Rusty Hinges ladies rinse and depart. I was alone in the locker room. Then, I heard someone using the nozzles. It was an unusually long nozzling, but I didn't think anything of it until I opened my shower curtain and was confronted by some woman in an all-out assault on her pubic hair. She was hacking at it like she had crotch gnomes living in there or something.
I wrapped my towel around me and headed back to my locker.
As I was getting dressed, I thought longer about this woman's behavior. The more I pondered it, the odder the woman seemed. Why didn't she use the private shower? There were plenty available. If she liked the freedom of movement allowed by a partition-free environment (which is not at all out of the question, with her vigorous approach to shaving), why did she have to pick the nozzle directly in front of my shower? And why not face the wall, instead of outward? I can only conclude that she may have wanted me to see her. To what end, I know not. She never looked up to see my reaction.
I relate this story to my husband, and his first question is one I cannot answer ("What did she look like?), because I averted my eyes too quickly. I cannot say that I've seen her again, either. The only thing I can say with any certainty is that she did not have rusty hinges.
