If I’m being honest with you—and I’m always honest with you—it’s been my secret fantasy to shower with two hot nurses, a-scrubbin’ and a-bubblin’ my body and its assorted ephemera until the sun comes up in the break-a break-a day.
Sadly, that fantasy came true in the most horrifically embarrassing way possible as I sat in a handicapped shower chair with two fully-uniformed nurses watching me (one was an actual nurse, the other a trainee from Oklahoma Christian) just in case I pass out and drown in my own tracheotomy tube, helpfully handing me soap and towels and the like. It was a new key low-point in my life and obviously God’s way of telling me to clean up my hedonistic fantasies, quite literally.