The President unbuttoned his white shirt, dropped it on the floor on top of his suit pants. He stripped off his white undershirt, then his underwear, also white. He turned on the shower, and while waiting for the water to warm, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He rolled his eyes, gritted his teeth, sighed.
He couldn’t believe that The President of the United States – leader of the free world – the most powerful man on the globe – should have to shower naked.
It was mind-boggling.
It seemed like someone should have come up with a better way. Wasn’t stuff like that someone’s job? Surely it was. That much was certain. That, and whoever’s job it was, should be fired.
Not that he was in that bad of shape. No, he didn’t look bad for 70. Could pass for 50, if he did say so himself.
And he did.
Say so.
Though not to the media, that’s the last thing he needed. They’d start calling him old. That’s how little imagination they had.
Still, he preferred to keep his shirt on.
He never did like the beach. Too much sand. Shouldn’t someone have fixed the sand problem too by now?
That’s when he remembered, his second wife (or was it his first?), some years back – they had been on vacation – had been reading from a magazine that said the secret to good self esteem as you got older was low bathroom lighting. She had read that out loud and laughed.
That’s not funny, he had told her. No one’s getting any younger.
She had looked at him strangely.
Yeah, that’s right. You’re no spring chicken, he’d said.
They hadn’t lasted long after that – not that he thought that she could have been making a dig. Was he even 50 then? Who remembers? Now – at 70 – he got the joke, he could laugh. He could laugh out loud, even.
Ha! he said, forced himself to look in the mirror.
He didn’t look so bad – he still had it. He could easily pass for 50. And 50 was the new 40. Still, he’d look into whose job it was, the whole president showering naked thing. They were as good as gone.
Then he could start working on that sand issue.
Photo: UK Mirror