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legs, drying my hairless taint, my cheeks, and the cleft between them. I dry my thighs and my knees, alternately lifting a leg, perching on one leg like a Herron as I dry my toes. I mindlessly drop the towel to the floor, standing before a full-length mirror. I run my fingers, with their perfectly manicured pink fingernails, down my sides, resting my thin hands on my hips. I cock my head back and forth, making kissing faces at myself in the mirror. I like myself. I love myself. I am grateful for my life, and it shows. I am radiant. I am She and, in the morning light, dancing through the panes behind me and the lace sheer, I am young and lovely. A few turns of the cap and the room fills with the scent of lavender. Creamy