I have lived in my apartment for three years and have only just now discovered that this entire time, my shower head featured a massage function.
Well, “massage function” insomuch as an apartment shower head can offer. That is, with poor water pressure, constant fluctuations from scalding heat to shocking cold, and an overall lackluster performance.
A poor person’s spa treatment, if you will.
I’m sorry I said that just now. Not the poor people thing. We allow ourselves the pleasure of mocking our own class and race so I’m going to go ahead and cash in on the Poor Cracker category.
No, I’m referring to the use of the phrase “if you will”. I’m pretty sure it’s a result of grad school. It’s only in my brain because I noticed it used several times in the last two weeks by people attempting to explain tiny concepts with many words. That phrase makes no sense to me. It only goes to great lengths to make you sound desperate. Unless you’ve said it with a somewhat British accent, in which case all is well by me.
Last night in class, while I was noticing the excessive use of the phrase “if you will” in class, I successfully inserted the word “poop” into the conversation. You know, to balance things out a bit. Also, the professor was discouraged by our lack of feedback on each other’s public relations plans so I took a note and decided to get involved.
My classmate’s plan wasn’t poop. Rather, her plan was centered on a downtown hotel’s ineptitude at attracting convention center visitors. And as you may or may not know because I may or may not have spoken emphatically about it before, our downtown convention center is utilized for a major Furry Convention.
I watched as the scene played out before me. One student looks confused at the term and half the class pretends to know. The other half recognizes the one confused face as an opportunity to witness the first-time reaction to the description of a Furry.
And I’ll tell ya – it was a darn good thing I was there because wouldn’t you know discussion in the room drove right to how all furries dress up like cats and use their hotel rooms as a litter box.
This is our world. These are its issues.
So, having no other motivation to speak prior to the mention of furries, I sought to clarify the definition. I didn’t want virgin ears to be polluted by these allegations. I apparently leaped to the defense of furries everywhere and was sure to inform the class that furries range from fan kids in costumes to fully-fledged hotel-carpet-soiling cathumans.
Right, so poop.
Where were we? Oh, the showerhead. Yes. I’ve made a discovery today. It wasn’t so much about the shower head (or the furries) as it was that I’m beginning to notice I’m a bit tired. I suppose I thought that if I were awake and paying attention, I’d have noticed this detail. Then again, that seems to insinuate that I’ve been tired for the last three years.
…Which, now that I’ve said it out loud, actually sounds kind of accurate.
But hey, the semester is coming to a close so now’s not the time to quit over a little shower head confusion. I’ll admit that I’m tired. And before when I got this tired I could choose to lose sleep, drink coffee, and carry onward. But I’m already doing those things and it’s still not enough time. But there are places I can squeeze it from.
When I think of all the time that accumulates over the course of several years for personal grooming alone, I go insane. If I’d just give in to bushy brows, chin hair, woolly armpits, and year-round leggings, I could sneak in a few more hours of rest.
You know, it’s a shame we’re so far from No Shave November.
Here’s to the home stretch. ♣