My Audition Piece

My Audition Piece

I have been asked by my Mum and several other people to share with you the piece I read for my audition. This was written more than four years ago – things have changed since then.

Here it is:

Too Much To Ask? – Tales From The Shower Stall

Is it really too much to ask that a child of his age use soap and shampoo in conjunction with water in the shower? (and that the water may actually be warm…I guess that would be pushing too far) Does he really need to be reminded at every shower / bath time? Do I have to stand there, loofah in hand, threatening the smells of a thousand ancestors be rained down on him if he doesn’t use the powerful tools at his disposal? I mean, what is the point of showering if one doesn’t use soap? Does he not care that he smells? Does he not care that people won’t want to be close to him? He doesn’t shower for me, he showers for himself, but I guess he didn’t get that memo.

And he wonders how I know. How could I possibly guess that he leaves the bathroom unscented and unsoapenated? Maybe the fact that the bathroom still smells like him, not like the rainforest promised by the body-wash and shampoo made for the young male ‘uns that inhabit my home. It’s not like I force them all to use my fragrant body washes that would leave them smelling like a bed of roses (but would that be such a bad thing? Surely that’s better than unwashed feet and pits???) and do I really have to check that he deodorized the aforementioned pits?

He is getting dressed in his shirt and tie and suit in order to go pray at the synagogue. Out of respect for G-d, did he not think he should make a bit of a special effort? The amount of lectures I have had to listen to recently on how important it is, Mommy, that we look our best on Shabbat, Mommy, that we present ourselves in front of G-d on our day of rest, Mommy, looking our absolute best in our best clothes Mommy. I guess nowhere were they taught that looking their best MUST include smelling non-offensive.

I just remember the days when they allowed me to bathe them, and I lathered them up and shampooed their hair and made fake Mohawks while the suds were not yet washed out, how I wrapped them up with a soft fluffy warm towel, rubbed them dry, softly, and covered them in baby lotion. They loved it. It was our special time. They smelled so yummy and pure afterwards and I felt so at peace. I was doing my Mommy job well. I deserved a raise. Now all I get is a raise in blood pressure.

Someone needs to invent a showering thingy much like they use for the car washes. The kid gets to stand in the shower stall still plugged into the waterproof MP3, and the machinery hoses him down, suds him up, washes him all over with a sponge, even in the nasty places, but gently – I do want grandchildren, thoroughly cleansing every limb and orifice, and then blows him dry with hot air.

I guess I should be happy that he actually got wet. Water is better than nothing. It wasn’t long ago that they had an elaborate system for avoiding the menace of the shower in totality. They would secrete a book under their towel, go in the bathroom and turn on the shower, close the shower doors, with them on the outside, sit and read for a good 10 minutes, take some water to fluff up their hair and make it look wet, and they were good to go. It didn’t last too long, there is only so much deodorant can mask.

Boys Boys Boys Boys. I am so blessed with 4 testosterone making individuals living under my very pink roof. They are just showing me occasional glimpses of what it would really be like if they weren’t such good not-so- little boys who love their Mommy. Right? They are just helping me to appreciate their finer points. (At this point in time I am not sure I remember what they are….something about telling me first thing in the morning how pretty I am……)

Counting my blessings…I get to spend time with my handsome little princes, and I will squeeze them tight no matter how bad they smell. I will cherish every moment I have with them – with tears of gratitude in my eyes for the privilege of raising them, and for the gift of motherhood.

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1 Comment

  1. Melissa / Gana says:

    Love this. What a cute story.

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