Quarter to Four in the Morning, I Ain't Feeling Tired...

I know most people shower in the mornings. They need the shower to wake up. They like to think they are at their most presentable when they bathe immediately before seeing other people. They consider the shower a crucial component of their morning routine.

I'm a nighttime showerer. A nighttime bather in general, really. I mean, I have a limitless capacity to sit in a bathtub for hours, drinking martinis and reading. Occasionally, I go all out and bring my laptop in so I can watch movies while I take baths.

Obviously, all this doesn't work for a shower, but I still get scrubbing bubbly in the evenings...I could blame it on Roller Derby and say that honestly, after two hours on the rink, I would turn into one ginormous pimple if I didn't shower right after.

But the real reason is pure - well, if not vanity exactly, certainly a Narcissus-like trait.

I usually bring my iPod stereo dock into the bathroom with me (you know, to pass the time while I unsuccessfully attempt to make my hair look like something other than the insane yellow rat's nest it is), and when I get out of the shower, all smooth and wet and sleek, I feel sort of like a seal. A dancing seal.

I am a shitty dancer. But when I get out of the shower, anything seems possible. I usually only get halfway into jammies (putting on a pair of men's boxers) and I let my hair stay wet. And then I dance. Topless. In front of a mirror.



So it's not a Vegas showgirl moment for me, despite the on-display tits. Things...jiggle. I'm covered in bruises ranging from the size of a dime to the size of a bagel from roller derby and the occasional illicit encounter. I have a love/hate relationship with my nipples, more often on the hate side of the scale. My wet hair is undeniably electric canary yellow. But there's still a huge sense of satisfaction to be had from the freedom of admiring the stuff I do like - I like to watch my arms and shoulders and my back and occasionally, I get so pumped, I even have a rare spurt of affection for my little belly.

Really, I think if more women danced semi-nude on occasion just for theirownselves, they might go a long way towards fostering much-needed true body self-luv. Am I right?