When I was a kid, maybe eight or nine, I had what I considered to be the perfect "little-known fact about myself" to share in icebreaker games.
"I have a birthmark around my bellybutton!" I'd say when it was my turn, lifting up my top to show anyone who wanted to see. It looked kind of like a coffee spill on my stomach and I took strange pride in it.
But a year or so after I started talking about my bellybutton, I caught my mom examining my neck at a stop light on our way to the dusty barn where I rode horses every day after school. "You really need to scrub better," she said. "Your skin is all splotchy."
Scrub? I had to do more than run a Dove bar over my body? It was a revelation of sorts. That night, I took her loofah and some St. Ives Apricot Scrub and exfoliated the shit out of my skin from my dirty neck down to my dirty feet. And I think you can guess what happened: My birthmark washed right down the shower drain.
It was a very disturbing wake-up call, and it's made me obsessive about personal hygiene ever since. I do double body washes — soap followed by sugar scrub followed by more soap — so the only thing one could accuse my skin of being is stripped. But occasionally, there have been cold winter days when my building's old water heater breaks, or when I wake up in a panic 40 minutes before I'm supposed to be at my desk, and only have time for a wipe of a damp washcloth — a "whore's bath," as one's grandma might say. I've always felt disgusting on those days, like I was reverting back to my dirt-crusted, horse hair-covered former self.
Then these Yuni wipes came along and changed the whole no-shower game in a way I didn't think possible. Each Shower Sheet is super-sized — like three facial cleansing wipes put together — so you can fold as you go and not drag grime from one part of your body to another, and pre-moistened with natural antibacterial and deodorizing agents. They smell minty, citrusy-crisp, and sanitary, but not in a sterile hospital way.
They're the Living Proof Dry Shampoo of body products, which is to say they make my armpits feel just as fresh, shiny, and new as they do after a traditional bath. Seriously. Recently, I felt so clean, so opposite of a rugrat who'd been playing in the sandbox, that I decided to go a second day without showering. (On the third day, I scrubbed, promise.)
I may not have a go-to fun fact anymore, but that's probably for the best. Lifting your shirt at the company new hire meeting is typically frowned upon.