And… oh, this pains me to admit, but I’m on a roll: Unlike Sheryl Crow, I use more than one square of toilet paper per visit. A lot more. More than I can count! Remember a few years back, when she proposed “a limitation be put on how many squares of toilet paper can be used in any one sitting”? It haunts me to this day, and I'm sure it haunts her, as well. She got major kaka for her TP proposal, suggesting we should all consider just washing that one square out.
“Now, I don’t want to rob any law-abiding American of his or her God-given rights,” she blogged, “but I think we are an industrious enough people that we can make it work with only one square per restroom visit, except, of course, on those pesky occasions where two or three could be required.”
Honestly, Sheryl? I’m not that industrious. There must be a better way to conserve forests than restricting how much tissue we use on our tushies. Now I know it’s hip for celebrities to go green, and I applaud it, I do. But do they have to drag the rest of us with them? This doesn’t mean I’m without certain charms, environmentally-speaking. I recycle plenty. I solar heat stuff. I have bamboo floors. I even use these cute bags made out of recycled billboards for my groceries. I’m trying, people. I am.
The other night, I thought, okay, let me give shorter showers another try. Sure, I’ll never live up to Sheryl Crow’s potty proposal, but maybe I can at least follow a few other green tips. I’m telling you, I gave it the good ol’ SJG try. I turned on the shower. I commanded the water to hurry up and get hot, instead of taking its sweet time. A la Jennifer Aniston, I adorned my toothbrush with whitener and stepped inside, brushing and rinsing like I was being timed for the Olympic trials. I lathered up, so fast and furiously, I got soap in my eyes. I had a mission, I couldn’t stop to rinse. I had much to do. I had to keep going, sting or no sting.
Then came the biggest challenge of all. Shaving. Cameron Diaz’s voice started to echo and hum in my brain: “I turn the water off when I shave,” she said. Again and again. “I turn the water off when I shave.” Enough, I heard you the first time. I turned the water off, per Cameron’s directive, and put my razor to work. “I can do this!” I told myself. I knicked myself here and there. I drew some blood. Still, I was doing fine… until I started shivering uncontrollably. And then it came to me, my favorite mantra, better than any green chant on the planet: Life is too short (for short showers). I quickly turned the water back on and stood there, luxuriating under the warmth for more minutes than I care to confess. Oh, it was wonderful. It felt so good.
Is there no end to my sins?
Let’s just say this experiment was a bust. Please don’t give up on me, pretty blonde celeb gals. Not yet. I will try the short shower again. When? I’m not prepared to reveal that just yet. Sometime in the summer, perhaps. But I’ll try again real soon. Promise. And I’ll keep trying till I get it right. Till I get it down to ten minutes tops. Make it eight. Okay five, but not a minute less. A girl’s gotta get clean.
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