I remember a time when I used to thoroughly enjoy taking a shower. It was such a relaxing, non-stressful experience. Now that I am a mom of twins, that is all but a distant memory. My time is so limited that I find myself racing to get as clean as I can before I have an audience of little people fighting (literally) for my attention. On more than one occasion I have had to stage a sibling intervention, soapy and dripping wet, leaving puddles all over the bathroom floor. (At what point do kids stop overlooking the reality that you are, in fact, naked?!) And because it is a such a fierce battle for time, shaving my legs has become nothing short of a threat to my physical well-being. I am a stickler about smooth limbs, so regardless of time, I still insist that I at least make an effort. However, just yesterday, I recalled exactly why it is that new razors and I just do not mix. The gash on my leg should serve as a reminder for quite some time. This is why on those rare opportunities when I can escape for a getaway from the kids, I could literally stand in the shower for a solid 30 to 45 minutes, basking in the glory of that uninterrupted moment of personal hygiene. Who would’ve ever thought that turning myself into a dried up-looking prune would bring such pleasure?