Don't drop the soap!

In my second year of college, I moved out of the dorm and into my first apartment with Matt and Marty Moseley. I was excited about living a more independent life (funded by my parents), free of Resident Directors and Assistants looking over my shoulder. Matt agreed to pay the extra rent for the master bedroom and I got to share the other one with Marty (this will be the subject of a few more blog entires). Eventually Mose moved out and I moved into the master "suite". Among the many amenities that my new digs at Shasta Creek afforded was a master bedroom with (drum-roll please) my own shower! Sweet! It was a standard two-by two stall with glass walls, but it was my own and I was stoked, unaware that this shower would nearly lead to my grisly death.
One cheerful Sunday morning I was skipping church and taking a nice relaxing shower, when I knocked the soap of the shelf with my elbow (keep in mind this was a 2'x2'). I went to pick it up and my feet slipped out from under me, leaving me on my back stuck in the fetal position. My shoulders were crammed into the sides of the shower floor, my head pinned up against one wall, my feet up against the other. Laughing at the situation, I tried to get up, but the walls were too slick for me to get any traction to heft my bulk. After a few attempts I lay there puzzled for a few minutes. Then I noticed that the water level was rising. My back was covering the drain! I could imagine paramedics around the country speaking in whispered tones of the jackass who managed to drown in his own shower.
It wasn't the fear of death so much as the fear of a ridiculous death that caused me to flip out like I did.
I flailed like a surprised cat, desperate to not become a cautionary tale on the dangers of solo showering, and finally banged to shower door open. I crawled out and like a castaway finding land and vowed never to shower again (a vow quickly broken).