Why I Hate Shower Scrunchies

Why I Hate Shower Scrunchies

Once upon a time, in the not too distant past I was in the bath, relaxing, washing and just generally y’know, bathing. Ahhh can you picture it? Beached whale blah, blah, blah. Anyway, I’m lathering myself up nicely with my shower scrunchy/puff thingamajig (we didn’t settle on a universal name for these chaps did we?) when I look down and notice something just above my right boob. ‘Ugh what’s that?’ I thought to myself. And after only a split second it dawned on me. It was a dead spider. A dead spider on my body. A dead spider, which had come out of my two week old shower scrunchy/puff/loofah doodah – ON MY NAKED BODY. I wasn’t pleased.

Mr Thrifty must have heard me thrashing around like a broken mermaid (Darryl Hannah, tank, Splash) because he came dashing into the bathroom to help me. Once I’d showered myself thoroughly, WITHOUT the aid of a scrunchy/puff/loofah doodah Mr Thrifty settled me down to tell me that he’d found loads more spider legs buried deep inside it, with the total amount of legs equalling around 4 spiders. I’m not sure if they’d some how got in at the supermarket, in transit, at the factory or in our flat, I simply do not care. Everytime I see one hanging in a bathroom or I’m given one in a gift basket I feel a little bit really blimming sick.


And this is why I hate shower scrunchies. I’m not usually one to encourage people to throw things out but dear God in floaty, cloudy heaven do not let one of these things near your body. Invest in the gloves (I have several pairs of these on the go), they’re not as devilishly pleat-y as evil shower scrunchies. You have been warned. They’re great in the garden. Pop them on the top of canes so that they collect water and slowly drip it on down to the plants and soil below.

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