I think it was an Adam Sandler movie. No. No it was “Rocket Man”. A dork. He picks up a bar of soap, runs it under some warm water, and presses it against the mirror. Squeak. He draws a circular space helmet; he adds antennae. He positions his face in the center of the helmet, perfectly, so that if it weren’t for the reflection of the teal-painted wall behind him, the one holding the grubby rusted towel rack, he would be in space. Of course, like any experienced astronaut, he completes his mission with a dance. That one where you bounce up and down, slightly, fists spinning around each other. Look left, look right. Head moving forward and backward, independent of the body. Like a chicken. The overbite. Awesome. 
     The knowledge of my adoption and regular execution of this dance is usually information solely savvy to my closest of friends: My toothbrush, bathroom reading material, rug, bathroom door lock, and, of course, my girlfriend and all of her friends who, I’m sure, revere my dancing abilities to the highest possible degree.
      So many Snapple caps have told me to be genuine and myself, wholly. Out the window with societal convention. There, I think there is an apparent hole in these moral adages. Ray Croc, the entrepreneur who gave birth to one of the world’s largest franchises, “MacDonald’s”, was known for his acute awareness and meticulous upkeep of his personal appearance. Microsoft and Macintosh and Starbucks and Stater Bros. Image Image Image. It’s important in a world of first impressions. 
      Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were every time I walk into the bathroom that there is somebody there, looking in the mirror. Nothing wrong, nothing bad, nothing immoral. Everybody does it. Yet, they recognize the sound of footsteps on tile and flinch and look away. Wash their hands for the second or third time. I usually text somebody for a minute until they leave, and then look at myself. 
     Is it insecurity? I must be vain if I care about how I look. There must be something wrong with me. Hide it.
      In the age of the dinosaurs, the cretaceous period or something, the 70’s, archeologists believe that it was common to carry with one’s self a comb. Hair brushing was part of the routine. Bathroom, wash hands, dry hands, comb hair, do I look ok?, yes, back to class. 
Maybe it’s insecurity.
      Maybe it’s that whole thrift store and hemp thing trickling down from Berkeley. My entire outfit was a dollar! Whatever it is, I think I’m just going to bring a bar of soap to school to stir things up a bit.