I Am A Killer Whale

There are quite a few things I like about our apartment.  Since it's new, we are the first people to live in our unit.  There are (fake) wood floors throughout most of the space, which are easy to keep clean and almost look expensive.  It came with all the appliances, including the washer and dryer.  Lord knows I don't have time to lug all of Nick's dirty underwear to my mother's.
Those are the nice things you notice when you get the tour.
But then you move in and begin to spot the smaller stuff.  Like the fact that the floors are crooked.  Our fridge actually leans away from wall.  Or the completely irrational arrangement of cabinets.  Bathroom counter space is so non-existent we had to buy an over-the-toilet organizer.  It was the best part of my week.
The latest annoyance is our continual and completely random lack of hot water.  It just happens every so often.  Of course, we only know it's not working when fifteen minutes into a shower it still feels like you're swimming in the arctic.  I become delirious,  screaming, "I'll never let go, Jack! I'll never let go!"  Wait, that's just Rudy crawling under the shower curtain to eat my loofa.   Nick finally figured out that the breaker was switching itself off.  In the 2 1/2 months that we have lived here, he has had to switch it back eleven times.
I seem to have an all-over bad experience with showers.  (Maybe that's my inner-psych reason for only taking one 3 times a week.  Sorry...TMI.)  I lived in one of the oldest dorms at Ball State, which meant sharing a shower with your entire floor. I never did specific research on the topic, but I'm convinced  people must have averaged about 5'2" at the time they built the dorm, because if I wanted to wash more the just my kneecaps I had to bend in strange ways, limited by the small space there was.  Imagine trying to shave your armpits.
Then I spent a few summers working at a summer camp, where you had to walk to the showers (sometimes quite a distance).  These were the kind with the button, so if you were stuck in the second shower on the right side you had to press it every three seconds in order to receive a steady stream of water.  The temperature of the showers were controlled behind the building, meaning you just had to take what you could get, blisters or frostbite. 
The rest of the time I lived at home, where my younger sister (we'll keep her anonymous and name her Schmemily) is determined to use approximately as much water as God did right after Noah built the ark.  I could be in bed, happily snoring, but if I hear Schmemily heading towards the bathroom I would do whatever it took to get there first.
Even when our hot water at the apartment isn't turned off, the shower never reaches hot, or even lukewarm.  It's just not cold enough to keep the goose bumps off of you.  It's like being in high school gym class again.  Including the part where you're being stared at by the strangely hairy senior girl.  Except it's my husband.
It takes me about 2 minutes to shampoo, condition, and wash my body when it's cold water.  I've become quite the earth-friendly gal.  When I finally do shiver my way out into the bedroom, I mutter something around the likes of, "I'm freezing my buns off in here!"  My husband, suddenly alert from killing zombies with a chainsaw (his new videogame addiction), screams back, "I'll come warm them up for you!"
At least there's one thing that always stays turned on around here.