All I want to do is wash my hands and dry them.
Sounds so innocent and easy.
Oh, that's a man talking for you.
If it was up to straight American men, then this task would be so uncivil.
There would be a big ole aluminum sink. Aluminum so it doesn't matter if you scratch it. Aluminum so you can degrease your hands after fixing the Weedeater and not worry about it. Aluminum so you can scrub it with Bon Ami and steel wool and get the sucker clean.
An oversized faucet would curl over the sink with about two feet of room between the firehose nozzle and the strainer drain so you can get your hands and forearms in there. And occasionally your feet. A one-handle faucet you can control with your elbows with just the three settings: real hot, good 'n warm, well-diggers arse.
Just over the faucet would be a jug of liquid Lava soap. The spigot placed so that any soap drip would end up in the sink.
And, next to it would be a roll of paper towels. Preferably Bounty. White. No little paisleys printed in aqua. And no select-a-size.
That's it. All I'd ever need.
But again, that's for cretins.
Nope, we need two poofters from England to make a little round puck that smells like Eckerd's perfume counter on Christmas Eve wrapped in cellophane tighter than Dick's hatband. And likely to have the queen's stamp of approval on it. When's the last time she changed the flapper on a toilet? I mean, Prince Charles has never put toothpaste on his own toothbrush. What does royalty know about washing hands?
And speaking of such things, what do Englishmen know about bathrooms? Have you visited there recently?
They don't know the difference between come here and sic 'em when it comes to washing up. They have a hot and a cold faucet on the sink. In the fanciest places.
And what that whole continent needs is a decent shower. I think the reason their P.U. factor is so high is their showers are the size of a phone booth. And they don't have doors or curtains on them. And the hot water runs out in 30 seconds or less. Yep, a properly designed American shower that's 5 feet by 5 feet with twelve adjustable shower heads and a flat screen TV and a mini-fridge would do that place a world of good.
But I digress.
So Messrs. Gilchrist and Soames have not only taken over the sink, they've invaded our showers. In hotels. In the "finest" homes.
I was in a "fine" hotel recently where the two Poms had elevated showering to their high art.
One little problem. There were three tiny jugs of their mystical liquid stuff in there. And I don't wear my glasses to shower. And the type on the little jugs was so tiny (other than, of course, the words GILCHRIST & SOAMES) that it was impossible to tell the difference. Other than the three Easter egg hues of the liquids.
I assumed one was shampoo. I assumed one was conditioner. I assumed the third was something I never heard of.
So I avoided it all and did the best I could with warm water and a clean wash cloth.
Now as for the drying of hands, that too has become much too high-falutin'.
First of all, if a piece of terry cloth has fringe on it, I assume it's for decoration, not for utilization. Same for things monogrammed that are pressed, folded and stacked in a basket. Same for paper napkins designed by Versace.
Come to think of it, I think I've seen this bathroom of my dreams. Isn't that what surgeons have? Isn't that how the guys wash up at Aamco after fixing my tranny?
Stan Richards has built a very large, profitable and stable advertising agency. And I recall having powdered my nose there once. And that's how his mens room was designed. (Wonder how Stan's ladies room is designed? And why do some ladies rooms have couches?)
Anyway. My hands are all germy from using this keyboard.
I'm gonna go let the dog lick 'em and then hose 'em off outside and dry them on my jeans.