The C.R.S. Chronicles #2: Routines

This is a tough topic for me: routines.

For the singular reason that routine rhymes with poutine and then my figuratively fat ass is off to the races.

I mean, can you blame me? Poutine and routine are of far opposite edges of the self-discipline spectrum. One with alleged rewards, the other with now rewards.

It’s like that old saying about procrastination:

Hard work will pay off in the future, procrastination pays off today.

I’m kind of a Subject Matter Expert on procrastination.

Anyhoo…I digress. (Another form of procrastination, no?)

I was thinking about routines yesterday in the shower. Hey, I don’t do all of my thinking on the porcelain throne, but the bathroom counts for a large portion of my aha moments.

Anyway, I have a routine in the shower. Mostly because I’m a little bit or a germaphobe but also because I’m a recreational hypochondriac. As 2020 taught me we all should be.

Crotch.

Feet.

Hair.

Face.

Pits.

Here’s why:

I don’t want to wash my face with “dirty” hands. Like washing a dirty body part with soap somehow fails to leave my hands clean…anyway, I figure starting with my crotch likely addresses the dirtiest region of my body, right? Then I move onto my feet, probably the next dirtiest part.

This is the way my mind mandates this occur. Crotch->feet. It cannot go the other way, because I’ve had athletes foot in my lifetime and just in case washing dirty body parts with soap doesn’t result in clean hands, well, I’d hate to accidentally transfer any athletes foot germs to my bawdy parts.

C’mon, Dater Gurl, tell me that’s just not possible. I know it in my logical brain, but I can’t get my irrational brain to play along.

Anyway, shampooing my hair next effectively takes care of the neurotic germy impulses that do their best to ruin a perfectly nice shower.

Once my hands are “clean”, I can wash my face and then hit the armpits and I’m G2G – good to go.

The only deviation from this routine is typically adding in some oral care.

Not that kind, Diezel!

If I want to stand under the hot water (my building’s only “amenity”) longer or kill time while I’m conditioning my hair, I’ll brush in the shower.

What? Don’t make it weird.

Any deviation from that routine just fucks the rest of my life up.

For instance…I don’t like to wash my hair every day. I have been trying to get into a “rinse only” routine on Tuesdays/Thursdays/Saturdays, to keep my mane from getting too dry and split ends-y.

But only rinsing my hair throws of the whole “clean hands” routine, right?

On those days, I start with rinsing my hair then wash my face; moving onto crotch, feet and then lastly, pits.

Sometimes it works just fine.

Other times?

Can’t Remember Shit.

I’ll get my hair wet, then wash my face, hit the pits and then shut off the water, having completed my normal cycle. Just forgetting that I started in the middle. It’s usually about the time I reach for my towel that I remember. But occasionally I find myself in need of a fresh towel after starting to dry off and remembering that I’m still a filthy whore from the navel down.

Second time is generally the charm, though.

Regardless, how big a mental case am I?!?

Not just because I forget simple shit like what I’ve washed in the shower. No, you have to add in that I have a specific shower routine that is a routine for quasi-insane reasons.

Anyway…overall, I’m a fan of routines. But having to endure C.R.S. doing its damnedest to ruin a good thing sometimes makes routines more of a boggart than a friend.

Maybe I should just etch a checklist into the shower wall…

The C.R.S. Chronicles #2: Routines

5 thoughts on “The C.R.S. Chronicles #2: Routines

    1. I remember my initial reaction being similar. I just couldn’t understand.
      Then I tried some – and sweet mystery of life! – I may still not have understood, but I *knew*! It’s pretty amazing stuff. And some fancy folk will try overworking the gravy with mixed results, but I swear that even with a basic canned brown gravy, you are on for a surprise!

      Like

  1. I shower like my dad taught me to wash a car. From the top down. By the time my feet have been swimming in the soapy run off all I have to do is grab the shower head and blast them. If you don’t have a handheld waterpick shower massage, get one. Best forty bucks of a lifetime. And fries as a crust for anything is always a winner.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. See? That’s the point, there’s a system of some sort! Without that, chaos.
      Presently, the Silver Fox and I are having a disagreement. Feel free to weigh in:
      I woke up to a text, “You don’t wash your butt?” and was shaken at the assertion. I countered with “‘Crotch’ is all inclusive.” Then I told him that I’d been debating breaking it into “junk” and “the Holiest of Holies”, which he thought was hilarious…but he was convinced that crotch only referred to the old twig and giggle berries.
      Thoughts?

      Liked by 1 person

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