After spending hours in the bitter cold, then commuting in the bitter cold, all I want is a hot shower to warm my soul.
I eject clothes from my stiffened frame, catapulting them across my bathroom. Beautiful shower. Glorious shower. Resurrect me.
The searing blasts soak me through, 50.1 kilograms when wet. From the outside in, I cook myself, a rotisserie, turning over and over as I roast. All this heat, this temperature, it will cost me. Cost me a raise and a bonus I do not have. On top of expending calories trying to and failing to keep myself heated at work, my food budget hasn’t increased. The money has to come from somewhere.
Shower thoughts, inane inspiration, I lean into what wisdom they might provide. I need to come up with alternatives to wearing cardigans. Something less bulky,
