Judged By A Spaniel

Wonwell BeachThis is your thirty second nudity warning. Repeat, 30 seconds to nudity.

I’ve been accused several times recently of having shit all figured out. Just wanted to debunk the myth with a dash of real life.

This sorry little tale starts as all good ones do, on a dark and stormy day; the sea wild, the moors mean and moody. A spaniel enters.

The spaniel has been on quite the adventure and is pretty much head to paw encrusted with lucifer knows what. She’s just revolting. She needs a wash. She hates a wash. Good times all round.

In a perfect storm of un-togetherness we’re having a bathroom done at home leaving us to share with a teenager for the fortnight. I know, I know, having two loos is not a problem, I’m so un-relatable. Hashtag first world problem or something. And whilst we’re on first world problems, that one remaining dunny has a bath with a shower that doesn’t detach and a fixed shower screen. It doesn’t move.
Objection! Relevance?
The relevance m’lud is that takes a whole lot of gymnastic manoeuvring to get into the damn thing for a human person. And twice as much to get out of it cold and wet.

Back to the crusty dog. After discounting a hosing down (too mean) and hoofing her into the sink (too…hoofy) I hit upon quite the solution: I’d have my post HIIT shower after which the husband could bring the hound and hand her to me in my shower prison. Two birds with one stone. Sort of literally.

It wasn’t a great idea at the outset I’ll grant you that. It got worse.

Things I didn’t consider before I was wet and naked and holding a disgruntled scratchy dog:
1) the shower doesn’t move. How exactly do I wash her?
2) took my specs off for a shower, I can see precisely NOTHING.
3) I’m nude and will have to remain so throughout this sorry scenario. Always great.

I’m semi bright and shiny, I like solutions:
1) put the plug in. Obvs. Shower bath combo. Bosh.
2) I do not need to see to see that brown swamp water swilling about my freshly shaved shins. Problem averted.
3) yep, still naked.

And this dear ones is how I spent last night. Weirdly crouching naked in a shower-bath hybrid with a spaniel, gripping her with my elbow and trying to use my hands as a makeshift jug. Shin deep in muddy swamp water,  an audience of one husband and one gloating spaniel semi cheering me on.

Do you ever have those moments of lucidity where your only thought is WTF?

It wasn’t our finest hour, probably not my proudest achievement. And Betty still won’t make eye contact with me. Judged by a spaniel.  THAT’S how together I am.

You’re welcome.

Thirty Two
She's Just Not That Into You