I struggle to wrap my towel around my bare upper body while sucking in my stomach because my roommate is sitting on her bed merely a few feet away. I will the towel to stay put in its snug position, right under my arms, as I inch out of my leggings. Nope, there it goes; the towel unrolls from the tucked place at my front, but I grab it as soon as I can while stumbling with my pants half off.

I undergo this daily struggle of just getting into the towel, before I’ve even left for the shower. Hoping my roommate didn’t see any extra skin, I reach for my monogrammed shower caddy and head out the door to the convenient next door bathroom. Towel still not staying on my dry body, I hold it up as best I can, hoping no one will see me as I make the few steps to the bathroom. But I since always forget something, I claim my shower by hanging my caddy on a hook in one of the stalls and make my way back to the room. At this point in the year, my roommate is used to my forgetfulness and my quick return is the norm. I grab my loofa (or sometimes a razor or shaving cream) and then turn back. Damn it, I have to go to the bathroom. Is it weird going to the bathroom in a towel? Will someone move my shower caddy? Or judge me for leaving it in an empty shower? Screw it, I think as I walk into the restroom stall.

I’m finally in the shower and turn the water on and get splattered by some initial cold drops from the shower head. The curtain behind me (the showers on my hall have curtains, not doors) starts to get sucked in by the force of the water (is that some scientific thing?) and touch my nakedness. Ew.

If it’s not on a late Sunday night, the water usually becomes hot very fast so I can escape from the clingy shower curtain. As I lather on the soap, the inevitable grazing between my body and a wall of the shower occurs and I try not to think about when was the last time it was cleaned. (FYI, on my hall it’s usually cleaned in the mornings, but then not at all over the weekends.)

The moment I am soap-free, I switch the water off, whip the first curtain back, reach for my towel and wrap it around me -- this time it’s staying put on my wet body. I push back the second curtain and step over the puddle I always make from showering because no one thought to put a drain in between both showers when they built my dorm.

I walk back into the room, squeaking my way in my shower shoes and gaining goose bumps from the colder hallway air. I enter my room to see I am not alone, and recommence the towel struggle, mixed in with moisturizing my skin and dealing with wet hair.