Rub-A-Dub-Dub/No Boy In The Tub

My playmate, Patsy, and I were best friends. We were 4 when we met. She
was an only child, and I had 2 older sisters. Since Patsy and I were the same
age, we "palled around" together, constantly.

Between the ages of 4 and 6, Patsy and I frequently bathed together. (A 12-
gallon galvanized tub was set up in the kitchen, for this purpose.) Patsy was
thrilled with this arrangement, while I suffered in embarrassed silence.

After several attempts, by Patsy, to "wash" me, I began thinking of ways to
"get out of" the bath ritual. The final straw was when Patsy, ostensibly "feel-
ing around for the soap," felt an intimate part of me, instead.

The next time that Patsy and I were to bathe together, I was determined to
make my stand. My nother had me undress in her bedroom, and she gave
me a towel.

As I entered the kitchen, I saw Patsy, in the tub, beckoning to me. I stood
behind the sofa, and refused to budge. As my mother tried to shoo me in
the direction of the tub, I clutched the sofa with one hand, while holding the
towel in front of me, with the other. I was 35 pounds of fierce determination.

After several minutes of stalemate, my mother gave in. She winked at Patsy's
mother, and said, "My boy is bashful." They both laughed, and made com-
ments about my having "nothing worth hiding." Be that it may, from that day
on, I always bathed alone.

Alas, my moral victory was short-lived. Within a few months, I would allow
myself to be coaxed into a situation, much more embarrassing than that the
one described above.
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