the suave shower stall singer

People say I take a long shower but I don’t think that is true.  I just like to make sure that I am clean so I wash, after all… that is why I am there in the first place.  Of course, I sing in the shower and that may be why it seems longer to others. 

Perhaps if I took requests the time would go by faster but as it is I have a mental (I don’t mean that in a derogatory way) list that seems to play out in my head at random.  Like every song I have ever heard somehow rotates through my conscientiousness at blazing speed and begs me to do my warbling best to wail at the top of my lungs.  (Well, maybe not quite THAT loud, but I have to be heard above the raging torrents of water that swirl about me so… it is up there).  Like just the other day I was singing “24 Hours From Tulsa” and I know no earthly reason why.

You would think that because of the environment I was surrounded by I’d be gushing  “Splish splash I was taking a bath…” or  “Rubber ducky, you’re the one…” but no, I might bellow out some power ballad like Journey’s, “Faithfully” or even Black Oak Arkansas’,  “Lord have mercy on my soul…”  My song selections are a merry cartwheel of rock star rarities that would make any Time Life or K-Tel producer green with envy.  There is only one logical explanation that I can think of for why I am compelled to take center stage American Idol style (I am not endorsing that program, ugh!) in the shower stall and bless the world with my vocal prowess.  I feel good.

But there again, I am naked.  I don’t know if Freud would approve of my blatant disregard for modesty or declare I have some complex needing expression or maybe I was just deprived as a youngster and need to place my talents on exhibition (SINGING talents, you perverts) but the acoustics in the shower stall beckon and then I lose all inhibitions.  In a nut shell… I feel good.

It is like the dawn of a new day no matter what time it is.  Set the temperature just right, lather up and rinse… all those anxieties and cares of the day just go right down the drain.  I feel like a new man and burst into song like Fred Astaire.  How can that be bad? 

I never sing in public, though.  I know I have a grand singing voice and should have been discovered long ago, but because of constantly being told not to quit my day job my confidence level needs a little bolstering.  I have quietly come to the conclusion that all the negativity surrounding my efforts is just so much envy, jealousy and  contempt that I carry on just for spite.  But never in public.  Oh, I might sing a bit at work, whistle a merry tune mowing the lawn or while driving with the top down on the Mitsubishi and listening to Bob Dylan.  (Listening to him continually gives credence to my claim)  But nothing seems to alleviate my self conscience state like isolation.  If they could place a shower stall at Madison Square Garden I know I could give a performance that folks would never forget.  (SINGING, you perverts)

I’m lean, I’m clean, I’m a singing machine.  And the reason is…  ( to put it in the words of the immortal James Brown)  I feel good.  Pass the microphone, er… soap. 


2 Responses to “the suave shower stall singer”

  1. zmyxu Says:

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