Rub-A-Dub-Dub

Living in Austin, TX really learned me some stuff. Not correct word usage, neccessarily, but more life lessons. I am in a rememberizing kind of mood today (Which is a fancy word for reminiscing), so in the shower this morning, as I put on my loofah gloves, a memory hit me.

I had been asked to help PA on a student film over Spring Break back in '00. I had done the PA thing once before and my talent was so extraordinary (meaning I was breathing and could follow instructions without drooling on myself) that I was asked to help out on more.

Anyway, we were conducting this film shoot in a house that was walking distance from my co-op. I knew little about this place or the people inside it when I started, but I learned quickly that it was indestructible and kind of perpetually dusty. It turns out that this place was the precious domain of the amazing duo of MLCIII and The Tino.

There was a girl that lived there, too. I heard MLCIII and Tino screaming at her once. Although time has erased the full details, I know that it didn't end well between the two parties.

Anyhow, my objective on my first day inside was to paint the walls in the living room. I painted with all my heart and soul between timid attempts to flirt with MLCIII, and as it turns out, I guess I did a good job. Eventually I needed to use the restroom. To my right was a pink bathroom with 1920's pin-ups all over the walls. "This must be the boys bathroom, what with all the female nakedness," I thought. "It's so clean! I definitely want to have sex with this guy."

It turns out that I was using Andrea's restroom. As I wandered over to the other side of the house, I found a blue bathroom. This one had some hair and dust on the floor, a rumpled bathmat, and little to no toilet paper with twice the toiletries. I was confused. I thought I had it all figured out, but all of a sudden bathroom ownership was up in the air. I stepped inside cautiously, and examined the situation further. There was a bottle of Mr. Bubble on the bathtub edge. Curious...

...and then I saw them. Loofahs. Casually tossed on the back corner edge of the tub. One was aqua-colored. The other was pink. PINK! "Pink?" I thought. "What boy uses a loofah? What kind of man allows it to be pink?" This was a long time ago, before metrosexuality was discussed in local newspapers.

I was panicking. The Tino seemed like one of those guys who would refuse to compromise his masculinity by allowing such a girlie thing in the same room where he relieved himself. On the other hand, MLCIII was no sissy boy, either. Zounds! Was I really going to have a shot with this guy, or not? If he was the owner of that pink loofah, was I really going to get any? Or would I be doomed to sing showtunes with him while sipping mint juleps on the veranda?

I was frantically trying to reason things out in my head. I was going in a million different directions at once. I was trying to appreciate men who understood the importance of exfoliation. They probably moisturized, too. No dry, scaly skin for those guys. No toenails that could slice open a tin can or rough skin on their knees. I was simultaneously making excuses. Maybe Andrea had carried HER loofah over to that shower because her shower was busted and she had forgotten to take it back. Maybe the guys had gotten them for free at the grocery store but neither man knew what it was for, and its next job would be to filter coffee grinds.

Anything, anything to cling to my hopes for getting laid.

I decided to ask them who owned it. I casually inquired about the rosy-hued loofah, hoping that my tone was light and lilting. Both men were nonplussed. I don't even remember their answer. They seemed like they enjoyed the sloughing of dead cells that it brought, but mostly used their hands or a washcloth if one was hanging somewhere. I exhaled. I still had a shot.

The Mr. Bubble definetly belonged to MLCIII, though. I glossed over it in my head, imagining all the wild, masculine, sexy things that people can do in bathtubs that require suds. I never said anything, though, and I put it out of my mind. I even used it once, actually, but never saw another container show up after that one was emptied.

And guess what? I read that if you really want to exfoliate, take a coarse paper towel and rub it over your skin while it's dry. Then get in the shower and wash with your hands. Apparently loofahs are the devil for a couple reasons: the first being that they harbor a ton of gross bacteria that harms your skin. The second is that it can scare away young, horny co-eds from banging someone's brains out because they fear that "it's" going in the "wrong place" if "it" goes in at all.

Thank God one co-ed was wrong.

don't want no scrubs. g