A Farewell to Arms

"Patience," said my friend, "is a virtue. And everything depends on right timing."

"That's real deep." I exclaimed, laughing. "And applicable to so many situations."

"I know." She smirked.


**********

Right timing is very important when it comes to our hot water system. A delicate work of surgery precision, every movement is registered, and has a resultant effect. Taking a shower has become a matter of strategic planning, as my housemates and I swap our various tactics against either an early death from pneumonia, or a hospital stay due to third degree burns.

My housemates all have different systems in place to combat this. Between munches of toast I discover that one housemate opts for the simple water-saving option. Just have quick showers, he says. In and out. Another relies on the precision of geometry: one twist of the hot tap anti-clockwise, and then 3 rapid turns of the cold. I measure heat by the number of body limbs washed. One clean arm and two legs under the lukewarm hot tap, and then it's time to turn on the cold water tap before I burn to death.

We are military strategists, the four of us. We plan our lines of attack, and, armed with towel, sponge and rubber ducky, plunge into the deluge. Mostly we emerge clean, pink and steamily triumphant. A few times, with a roar of pain or a shriek of shock, we stumble out, admitting defeat by the flaying of arms to keep the circulation going. Sometimes the white towel is hoised, and a truce is called. No time for conditioner, but at least the soap's been washed off.

My fourth housemate won't put up with it though. My morning shower, he explains, is like other people's morning coffee. Necessary. Like a good diplomat, he has surveyed the scene, observed the carnage, and decided its time we put down our arms and appeal to a higher authority.

He is right in his wisdom. We'll be ringing the landlord tomorrow.