Saturday Night Baths and Sunday Morning Dress-Up
I think every child loves Saturday. Saturday is that day when you don’t have school. It is the day to sleep late and play. It was on a Saturday that my father would take me on excursions of delight. Holding his hand, we’d place our token in the turnstile to ride the 4 th Avenue local. However, there was one part of Saturday that I did not like. Saturday night meant a soak in the tub. Ours was an old tall claw bathtub. We had no shower. While we each had our own bathwater, one by one, we’d make the trip into the tub to be clean for Sunday. I often entertained myself in the tub with boats sent to me from my relatives in Norway. I enjoy the tub. What I didn’t enjoy was the shampoo. I’d cover my eyes with a washcloth as the cups of water were poured over my head. Usually some got in my eyes and I’d wince or cry. My ears, between my toes, and my neck were all checked to see if they were clean. There was a woman we knew who always had a dirty neck. My mother would remind me