Rubbing Myself Raw

What I do when I think of Donald Trump.

Hey, who here wants to talk “exfoliation?” C’mon, don’t be shy. It’s good for you!

What did you think I was talking about? For God’s sake, get your minds out of the gutter, people!

With all the compulsive hand-washing and sanitizing and scrubbing and cleaning that we’re all doing in order to just stay alive, I wanted to share one of my favorite daily rituals: Exfoliating my body from head to toe.

I’ve always been obsessed with having good skin. As a kid, I never struggled with acne, largely due to genes and luck. Oh, I had the occasional zit, but that was about it.

As I’ve aged, naturally my skin has changed, but I have to say, my dermis is hanging in there. (In a figurative sense.)

I love water. Hot baths and showers are my go-to when I’m feeling stressed, which is every effing day, now, as is the situation with the entire world.

Lately, as I watch our Killer-In-Chief roll all over the White House Press Corps, and feel my gorge rise as they meekly take it up the ass, I feel the need for a good “cleanse.” Rather like in the movie “Silkwood,” where Meryl Streep, as real-life character, Karen Silkwood, a nuclear facility worker, has to undergo a brutal decontamination process when she is exposed to radiation.

She howls in pain during the entire scrub-down, which became known in the public lexicon as a “Silkwood Shower.”

Trust me, I don’t use (what look to be) wire brushes as the “cleaners” do during that iconic scene, but I do give myself a good going over! Yes, I’m hard on myself and I like it.

Here’s what I do after feeling particularly “soiled” from watching “Donald the Foul” Trump vomit up his lies to the country and the world:

Before I get into the shower, I dry brush my skin. That’s just what it sounds like. About now, you might be wondering, “Why the hell do this, Sherry?”

Well, dry-brushing is supposed to support the lymphatic system, increase circulation and cell-turnover and loosen and remove dead skin cells. It’s somewhat energizing, as well. And, it feels good! To me, anyway.

I use a natural-bristled brush and start at the bottom of my feet and up my legs using long, firm strokes.

For proper lymph flow, I always brush toward the heart/chest area where the lymphatic system drains.

After I’ve finished my feet and legs, I repeat the process on my hands and arms. For my stomach, I brush in a circular, clockwise motion. The same for my armpits, but with a bit less gusto.

I can’t reach my back, but my ass cheeks are not exempt from my ministrations. They, too, get an upward stroke. (Is that TMI?)

I supposed I could ask my husband to do my back, but screw it. There are just some things one needs to do alone.

Typically, I brush each section of skin, ten times. And then, skin tingling, I hop into the shower.

Ahhhhhh. Bliss.

While I talk to myself in an effort to fend off the crazies, which creep closer by the day, I lather up with a moisturizing body wash and one of those colorful shower puffs. (Current color: Coral.)

Typically, I’ll shave my legs, as well so I’m as smooth as a banana peel.

NOTE HERE: If I skipped the dry-brushing out of sheer laziness, I’ll use a loofah or a rough Asian washcloth (which is specifically for exfoliation) so I can de-scruff in the shower.

You can get these washcloths on Amazon or in Asian stores where they’re dirt-cheap, but, since you won’t be going anywhere, if this sounds like something you’d like to try, I’d suggest ordering one.

I also exfoliate my facial skins with a little buff puff-type thingy.

When I get out of the shower, dizzy and red-faced from the heat, I towel off and while I’m still moist, slather on body lotion or coconut oil, depending upon my mood.

And then, I put on a bustier and thigh-highs for my hubby.

BULLSHIT! I climb into my shitty nighttime “uniform” which is a layered affair consisting of shorts under comfy, cotton sweatpants, a T-shirt and a flannel hoodie. SEXY!

Finally, I reward myself with a nice glass of wine or three as I reflect upon the day’s doings, which are exactly the same. Every. Damn. Day.

And that’s how I maintain good skin while ridding myself of Donald Trump. Temporarily, anyway.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

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