letter to my shower

Dear Merville Apartment 3 Shower,  

 You suck and let me tell you why. First of all your name, “Supa Jet.” Really shower? You think that’s accurate? That’s what it says on your temperature adjustment wheel but I’m pretty sure Peter O’Toole gets a better stream going when he pisses. To this day.

And why a wheel? That seems a little ambitious Shower,  that seems a little like you think you’ve got some sort of spectrum of degrees going Shower. What you should have Shower is a switch. Just a switch, blue on the bottom for ice pelt and red on top for lobster fry. Because that’s what you do Shower. I get in and it’s on lobster fry and it’s ok, I scald myself into a happy blazed oblivion and once I’ve shampooed and my conditioner is conditioning, while I shave, then do you know what you do Shower? You do. You switch to ice pelt so every fibre of my being shivers. It’s sort of like a micro electric shock induced workout. Are you saying I’m getting fat Shower? Is that why you make me go into muscle spasms?

It was especially neat when you did it when I was sick Shower, there’s nothing better than being covered in ice water and soap when you have a cold. I guess you could be an outside shower, Shower, that would be worse. I mean I get that you’re in a shitty student residence. I get that power and hot water are limited since the Irish have actually started putting environmental programs into practice instead of just making documentaries and t-shirts at urban outfitters about it. I get that Shower. But please. I’d like to shave both legs for once, I’d like to get all the shampoo out of my hair before I get out. I’d like to be clean.

You’re turning me into a dirty european Shower, the kind no one wants to stand next to on the bus, and I thought you should know. 

Sincerely, 

angry wet redhead