On Sunday morning, I took a luxuriously long shower. I shaved my legs and clipped my toenails. I slathered on various creams and lotions. When I emerged from the bathroom at last, I had a vivid memory of my father after his ritual shower and shave.
Dad would open the bathroom door. Steam and the smell of Old Spice aftershave would precede him into the hall. He would have a bath towel around his middle and a shaving towel wrapped sheik-like around his head.
He would announce: “I am the cleanest person in this house. Who wants to kiss me?”It’s been forty-one years since Dad died.
I still miss him.