A writing prompt from The Red Dress Club: write a first-person piece about either eating your favorite food or taking a shower – without using a personal pronoun. Yikes.
Ninety seconds to sweep away the grime from an arduous, balmy day. Horrifyingly cold water explodes from the faucet and miles of fine hair are knotted. The piercing stream of water warms up as the strands are once again tamed. Steam rises and beckons to each lifeless cell, detached fiber, and speck of dirt with promises of release. Lavender-scented bubbles to wash away the worries and a drain to collect the debris. Fingernails are purged. Weary feet are unsoiled. Pungent armpits are scrubbed and shaved. A delicate layer of makeup melts away. But legs remain fuzzy and hair is only shampooed not conditioned. Time is running out and the baby has started to wail. The stubborn residue of lavender and filth are ushered to the drain. The water stops as rudely as it started. Sudden, with not even a trickle for goodbye.