Experience showed that we need to replace our shower cord once each year. When several holes appeared in our inaugural shower cord, I blamed it on the shower cord. When the next shower cord starting leaking, I started to think. About another year later, our most recent shower cord cracked right where it connects to the valve. This is when I knew that what’s running from our taps must be acid rather than water.

The shower cord had been leaking increasingly for several months, to the accompaniment of hubby’s vain promises that he’d fix it. Then one morning, I bent over the tub as I do to wash my hair. There was hardly any water coming from the shower head, most of it was streaming down from the valve. I treated my head to a generous amount of shampoo. As I grabbed the shower cord to rinse the hair, the cord detached itself from the valve.

I was happy that the shower cord obtained its much-expected divorce from the valve. It dramatically increased the chance that hubby would finally provide a decent shower facility. The incident however created a new problem, which was me stranded with shampooed hair and nowhere to rinse it. I had several options, none of them too inviting:

1. One, to strip, run a full bath and immerse in it, hoping I won’t drown in the process. The risk of death by drowning is very real because the tub is large and I always get lost in there when alone.

2. Two, to call hubby for help, do nothing and wait for his arrival in the evening. It would be interesting to see what happens to your hair after an eight-hour shampoo mask.

3. Three, to go in the garden, work the water pump and put my head under it. This would certainly delight the neighbours as a welcome diversion in the village life routine.

I chose option four. Remembering my gymnastics classes from twenty years ago, I bravely stretched as far as I could to see if my head can reach under the tub tap. It turned out that I’m tall enough to reach there, provided that I make myself horizontal. I was balancing with my tummy on the edge of the tub and my feet bracing against the bathroom cabinet. It felt like waterboarding. I rinsed my hair without using my hands.

Hubby arrived in the evening with a new shower cord. I suggested he should’ve purchased several pieces at once and asked for a mass discount. He wasn’t amused. I described my heroic feat of bathroom gymnastics in vivid detail. He suggested that I should try bedroom gymnastics instead. I wasn’t amused. He replaced the shower cord successfully. He kept the damaged cord as a keepsake — or in case someone should want to hang themselves out of sheer frustration with shower cords.