b.o., acne and athlete's foot

"I thought you said paper towels, Clyde," his wife says, "I thought you said when I go to the store to pick up some paper tow . . ."

Clyde Edgers shuts the bathroom door and cuts off his wife.  He walks over with a clump of paper towels and sets them on the back of the toilet.  He drops his pants and sits down.  Clyde looks over at the empty toilet paper roll and shakes his head.

 

"I really thought you said we needed paper towels," his wife says, from outside the bathroom door, "I didn't know we needed toilet paper."

Clyde looks over at the empty roll and then at the door.

"No, I said we needed toilet paper, not paper towels," he says, looking down at the floor, "Just forget it, I don't want to talk about this right now."

His wife doesn't say anything.  He can hear her breathing outside the door, before turning and walking back down the hallway.  Clyde sighs and relaxes.

The stuff explodes out of his backside like warm soup broth.

He reaches around and grabs the clump of paper towels.  He begins ripping the sheets in half and building up his courage for the wipe.

Clyde works 12 hour shifts in a bakery.  Much of that time is spent wearing heavy cotton pants in front of  large ovens baking bread.  The perpetual heat and humidity in the bakery lead to interesting physical dilemmas.

There's the oppressive B.O. from continuously sweating.  There's the acne all over his back from clogged, suffocated pores.  There's the painful athlete's foot from the constricting slip-resistant black shoes he's obligated to wear.

But the dilemma that is most unique and pressing for Clyde's current predicament, is what all the bakers refer to as chapped ass.

Chapped ass is the result of steady sweat and moisture that develops in and around the taint and lower ass cheeks from the driving heat of the ovens.  The moisture softens the skin and makes it vulnerable to the coarseness of underwear.  The fabric rubs on these areas till a rawness develops and a burning pain is experienced when walking or sitting or worst of all wiping your ass.  The tenderness of the area is a kind of "chap-ness".

Clyde now sits on the toilet and holds the strips of paper towels.  He looks over at the empty roll and shakes his head again.  He wishes he had a pink roll of Charmin Ultra-soft and not these Spartan sheets of Brawny.

He tries not to think about it and wipes.  The paper towels are rough as Braille.  It feels like he's wiping his ass with a catcher's mitt made of asphalt.

Clyde finishes and stands up.  He looks at the mess in the toilet and spots little specks of blood on the paper towel.  He tries not to think about it and flushes.

He walks over and washes his hands.  He looks at himself in the mirror for a moment and then sits down on the edge of the shower.

Clyde removes his slip-resistant black shoes and sweaty white socks.  He looks over his blistered red toes and scratches the itchy bumps on the soles of his feet.

He drops his pants and slips off his shirt.  Clyde doesn't look at the acne rippled across his back.

He turns on the shower and steps in.  The warm water irritates his chapped ass.

Clyde adjusts the cold faucet.  His balls shrivel some, but his ass feels better.

"Do you mind if I join you?" his wife asks, stepping into the shower.  Clyde washes the soap from his hair and opens his eyes.

"I just wanted to get in and out," Clyde says, "It's been a long day."  "I just need to take a quick shower too," his wife says, reaching around him and turning up the hot water, "It's too cold in here."

Clyde feels the burn on his ass and moves from the water quickly.

"What are you doing!?" he asks, "I had it how I like it!"  "I was just trying to make it a little warmer for you," his wife says.  "I didn't want it warmer," Clyde says, "It was fine how I had it."  "I can turn it back I guess," she says, reaching for the faucet.

"No, forget it, never mind," Clyde says, stepping out of the shower and putting a towel around his waist, "You can just have it."

"No, come back," his wife says, turning the faucet, "It's getting cold again."

"Never mind, I'll take one later," Clyde says, picking up his dirty clothes, "You go ahead."

"No, you can come back in, I'll get out," his wife says, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around her torso.

"It's fine, get back in," Clyde says, closing the bathroom door.  He drops his clothes in the hamper and walks over to a chair by the window.

He sits down.  His ass stings.  He adjusts himself so that it feels better and looks out the window.

Clyde watches a black bird in a green tree.

He can hear his wife crying in the bathroom.  He knows he will have to apologize and get back in the shower.  He will have to turn up the hot water and wait for his turn to use the soap.

He knows he has to do these things and he will.

But for a moment, Clyde decides to sit in the chair and look out the window-