RINSE AND REPEAT.

Last night I came home to what every girl hopes for after a long day at the office and a sweatfest at the gym. A tub filled with Mr. Bubbles? A full-body rubdown with aromatic oils? Hot sex on a platter with an extra helping of man love?  No, no, and unfortunately, no (although I do hope for these things on a daily basis). It was better than all of those things combined. It was, for lack of better description, a cold shower.

Once reserved for testosterone-riddled adolescents and wartime atrocities, the cold shower is making a comeback in an ex-tenement apartment complex near you (namely, my own).  For reasons unbeknownst to me, the hot water was off and it showed no signs of resuscitation. I could have called the landlord, but instead I did what any sane New York woman on the verge of smelling like post-workout Richard Simmons would do: I cursed the heavens and climbed on in.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not one of those girly girls who can’t go a day without showering and/or grooming. I went a full nine days without bathing last summer when I trekked up Mt. Whitney, and if I lived in France or some other pro-body hair region, I’d leave my Mach3 Turbo to the boys.

But taking a cold shower when it’s 30 degrees outside is another story- it feels more Titanic than titillating. Although my friend Il Barbarossa claims that some European cultures believe cold showers can increase one’s immunity to disease when taken after a workout (a worthy explanation for the thermal boot camp I experienced at the Russian baths), it wasn’t something I was raring to try. But alas, necessity drove me to it.

If you too somehow find yourself waiting unwittingly for a shower that never heats, have no fear: I have created this handy field guide to showering al frió. Just (brace yourself,) rinse, and (don’t) repeat. Happy washing.

1.   The name of the game here is Speed and Efficiency. Get your body wet really quickly, then immediately turn the water off. This not only saves water, but it also saves your 2000 parts from impending frostbite. I also found that the initial shock of the cold actually warmed my body up in between water spritzes. Score!

2.   Defer to what my friend’s grandma once lovingly referred to as the “PTA” (P**sy, T*ts, and A**) bath. Having camped my whole life, I am no stranger to the magic of a PTA bath in the wilderness. Last night, I took that knowledge and applied it to my urban conundrum: although expanded to include the hair (which was greasier than a Jack In The Crack value meal), it still just focused on getting the key body parts under control. Again, speed and efficiency are key.

3.  Only use a little bit of shampoo and/or body wash. You know how they say “dime-sized” dollop of liquid? Well, I suggest you take that to heart when attempting a lather in sub-zeroish conditions. The more stuff you rub onto your body, the more time in the cold it’s going to take to get it off. Take if from me: I used about a quarter-size too much of the Dr. Bronner’s Magical Peppermint Soap, and my lady parts were not feeling too magical after the five minutes it took to remove it.

4.   If you have long hair, flip it over (i.e. bend over) and wash it upside down. My mom used to wash her hair this way because she didn’t like getting shampoo suds all over her freshly rinsed body. In my case, it kept my frozen hair water from leaking into every nook and cranny.

5.   Do some imagery work. This is the point where you can no longer avoid the fact that the water is indeed freezing, and that you will inevitably have to douse your head and body in it as a grand finale. Now is the time to imagine jumping into a tranquil pool of water; or, better yet, that you’re on fire and the only thing that will save you and your hard-earned looks is a blast from a fire hose that is being operated by impossibly hot firemen/women. I chose the latter.

6.   Bundle up in a fluffy towel and pretend you’re an Eskimo in an animal hide.  

7.   Just in case my mom was right and going to sleep with wet hair does in fact cause pneumonia, blow dry it before you hit the sack. I did, and guess what? No pneumonia.

8.  Sleep tight, don’t let the beddy bugs bite.

Oh yeah—and call the landlord.