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I wish I could tell you this is the first time my husband locked me in the shower. But no, it’s not. It’s the third. But last night was the first time he locked me in the shower and then left me alone the RV. Stuck. Hopeless.
He didn’t do it on purpose, just out of habit. In our new RV, there is a small plastic lock that turns to keep the shower door closed. This is so it doesn’t fly open while you’re driving. Note the emphasis on while you’re driving. Despite the singular use of this feature, my husband habitually locks the shower every time he closes the door, which is often since we keep our dirty clothes hamper in the shower.
Like your average nagging wife, I’ve bugged Heath about this before, mostly just because I was annoyed about having to unlock the door just to toss my dirty socks in the hamper. But after my husband locked me in the shower last night, I think he learned his lesson.
Here’s what happened:
Somewhere around putting the conditioner in my hair, I realized something.
“Heath?” I shouted over the sound of the water. “Will you grab the face wash out of the bathroom? I forgot it.”
“Sure,” he replied from the kitchen (pros of living in an RV).
Now in the past when I’ve called out to my husband to bring me something I’ve forgotten, which probably only happens every single time I shower, he reaches his hand over the top of the shower door and drops whatever I asked for. This way he doesn’t have to open the door and let the cold air in.
But for whatever reason this time he opened the door, handed me the face wash, and told me he was going on a walk to rehearse his speech that he’s giving to Chikfila owners tomorrow.
I didn’t think much of his leaving the RV while I showered. This just meant I could practice my Taylor Swift karaoke as loudly as I wished.
Now, if you’ve never showered in an RV, let me give you the low down.
RVs don’t have endless hot water like a house. We have a hot water heater that you turn on manually before waiting 15 minutes for the water to get warm. This is enough hot water to last about 10 minutes–maybe 15 if you’re conservative.
So when Heath left the RV, I had only a couple minutes of hot water left. Not that I knew that I was a couple minutes from banging violently on a plexiglass door that wouldn’t budge.
I turned off the water and tried to push open the door. It didn’t move. I pushed harder. Nothin.
“Heath?” I called out in vain. No response.
I rattled the door back and forth to see if I could jiggle the lock open. It’s just one screw and plastic lock. There’s no way it could keep me trapped in this humid box, I thought. I shook the door. Nothing. I need to work out more.
Heath wouldn’t be back in the RV for another 30 minutes at least. I was stuck.
Might as well make the best of it, I thought to myself.
I turned the water back on to try shower #2, but there was no hot water left. I sat in the floor of the shower with a couple bottles of soap, a pumice rock, and a bar of soap I dropped a week ago and never bothered picking up.
I grabbed the pumice rock to use on my feet. I’ll give myself a mini-pedicure.
Scrub, scrub, scrub. Ah, how relaxing… Why is there so much dirt coming off my feet? Have my feet always been this dirty? Sheesh. I need to sweep my house. And clean my feet more. And wear shoes.
Hey, why do people only use these things on their feet? It’s so effective.
You know, it’s been over a week since I got that spray tan for my sister’s wedding. It’s been pretty streaky coming off and Heath did tell me I looked like a female Michael Jackson with my blotchy skin. I bet this rock could help take the rest of the color off.
Scrub, scrub, ow! What the heck? Is this thing made of needles? I think I just ripped off the skin off my neck.
Darn you pumice rock and your eighteenth century torture device ways!
Is that thunder I hear? Great, more thunderstorms. My parents always told me never to shower during a thunderstorm. I don’t remember why…Something about lightning? Note to self: Look up why you shouldn’t shower during a thunderstorm. If I ever get out of here.
I pushed on the door again. Nothing.
What if it keeps raining and the lake floods and the RV floats away with me stuck in the shower? What if Heath’s mom calls him and then he’s on the phone for an hour and I’m stuck here alone? What if I have to pee?
Eh, I guess I’m in the shower. There are worse places to be trapped. A closet. A trunk. A dungeon.
What’s that? Why can I feel a hair on my chin? I pulled at the hair with my finger nails. It kept slipping through. Great, I’m trapped in a shower and I’m growing a beard. Note to self: pluck this dang hair off my chin.
I wonder how my husband feels about marrying a woman who has more facial hair than he does.
I bet Heath didn’t blow out the candles in the living room before he left. So if I don’t float away in a flash flood, I could burn alive. Or explode. I can hear the whir of the flame to the hot water heater on the other side of the shower wall. I wonder if hot water heaters ever spontaneously explode. What are the statistical odds of a propane water heater blowing up on the precise day that I’m trapped in the shower?
Oh God, I’m going to die in this shower.
I should call for help. Let me grab my phone off the bed–oh. Still stuck. Why didn’t I bring my phone in the shower with me? I should get one of those waterproof phones.
I could always yell Heath’s name. If he’s walking outside or nearby, he might hear me. Or maybe a neighbor will hear me and come to the rescue!
Actually I highly doubt anyone would come to our RV door if they heard me shouting Heath’s name. Their first thought probably wouldn’t be helpless girl trapped in shower.
Gosh, it’s getting cold in here. I should see if there’s more hot water yet. Besides another shower is probably the best use of my time anyway.
Well, that was a nice 75 seconds of warmth.
Time to sit back on the shower floor alone wondering what I’m doing with my life.
Oh I know! I should shave my legs!
Eh. Not worth it.
You know now that I think of it, even if someone did hear me yelling and came to my rescue, they would have to open the shower door and see me completely naked. I probably don’t want to be that girl in the RV park.
Gosh that bar of soap is still just sitting in the shower floor. When did I become so lazy? Now’s a good a time as any to clean it up.
Yuck! The former bar of soap melted into a sticky mush that covered my hands. How can soap be so gross?
Gosh, I’ve been in here for like 20 minutes. Heath’s talk usually takes 30 minutes… I’M SO BORED.
I need to make up a game. What game can I play by myself with soaps and a razor?
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
Aqua Reef Men’s Body Wash. What does that even mean?
Oh I know! I’ll sniff all the soaps and guess what the scent is supposed to be.
Okay, conditioner. Hm. Vanilla? Maybe some coconut? That’s my guess. Let’s see…hmm…There’s no scent listed on this bottle! Gosh Suave what are you even doing with your life. They don’t have the scent listed but here’s the word methylchloroisothiazolinone. Note to self: figure out what that is and if it’s the reason your eyes burn when you get shampoo in them.
Alright, round two. Let’s try this body wash. Paris Amore. That sounds like it would have a fancy scent. Like the French countryside. Hm. It smells kind of like laundry detergent. Like a hybrid of flowers and cleaning supplies. Let’s see…pink champagne? Really? Inspired by strolling the streets of Paris. Aren’t the French known for not showering? Or is it not shaving? I need to visit France.
“Heath?” I called out. Nothing. Must’ve been the sound of the hot water heater turning off. The dial was at empty when I turned it on for the shower…Great now we’re out of propane and I’m trapped in a shower. At least I can’t explode? Dang it I probably just jinxed myself. I need to knock on wood. Dang it there’s no wood in here!
I wonder what I can get out of Heath as retribution for locking me in a shower all night. I’ll definitely have him wash the dishes from dinner. Maybe I can trick him into giving me a massage. I wonder if other wives think like this when their husbands do something frustrating. I wonder how many other wives have been locked in the shower by their husband. Note to self: future book idea about women who are consistently locked in the shower by their husbands.
Gosh, I’m bored. All my soaps smell the same and I’m out of game ideas. I even cleaned the hair of the drain, which was a mistake because now I share my corner of the shower with a wad of hair that needs a trash can. Didn’t think that one through Padge.
HEATH, COME HOME. Telepathy is really my last option here.
Maybe I’ll sing a song. Okay, what song? Why can I think of no song titles? Sure, I can’t fall asleep at night because Adele is stuck in my head but the one time I need a song to sing there’s nothing.
I’ll just sit here and wait. And wait. And wait.
My hair is starting to feel gross. I wish I had a hairbrush. Maybe I should’ve cut my hair.
It’s getting really cold again. Maybe there’s more hot water. Let’s try shower #3.
Showers are a lot less exciting when you’ve been in them for 45 minutes.
Creeeeak, bang, slam.
“Baby? Why are you still in the shower?” Heath called from the doorway.
“LET ME OUT!”
Heath probably apologized like twenty times and I ended up doing the dishes anyway. My feet are really smooth though.
You know, people ask us all the time, “What’s it like being married in an RV?” Well guys, it’s like periodically being locked in the shower by your husband.