* This essay column is written by a longtime foreign resident of Japan.

I suppose it has something to do with the water, but whenever I have a shower, the shower stall gets wet. It's not that I throw water about like some parched pachyderm on a particularly hot day in the Serengeti. And although I have been known to sing a few bars while in there, I am not in the habit of practicing my Gene Kelly impersonation from Singin' in the Rain while showering -- my mum always told me it was bad luck to open an umbrella indoors. But when I turn on the tap things just tend to get wet.

To me it's simply a fact of life. Unfortunately, this does not placate my wife. To her it's another example of my inability, or reluctance, to embrace life in Japan. In this case, her concept of the "dry shower."

I have tried to adopt and adapt to certain aspects of life here. I slurped my ramen and soba for a while, but the improvement in the taste was never sufficient compensation for the mess on my shirt and spectacles. And you just can't get macho bibs.

For a time I even stopped barking at the moon every time life got the better of me and tried to learn the stress- relieving technique of saying shoganai 10 times -- I think it's something like saying 10 Hail Mary's and 10 Our Father's for absolution -- but shouting made me feel so much better.

I even thought of going to the sento down the road to meet some of the locals -- best not go there.

I suppose my most spectacular success has been my complete mastery of chopsticks.

I know, it's not much to write home about, but after 17 years in Japan I've learned to gratefully accept every victory, no matter how small, and it has kept me from going hungry and saved me from those incredulous glances in restaurants that always greet a request for a fork -- or even worse a spoon -- and those embarrassing piles of food on the table or in my lap.

It has also given my wife a boogie-man stick with which to "beat" our son whenever his chopstick technique lets him down or he forgets his hashi etiquette. She can point at me and shame Tom by telling him that there's a gaijin who can use chopsticks better than he can.

If he's feeling especially brave, or cheeky, he'll tell his mum that it's his gaijin half that is having trouble with some particularly slippery udon.

I have to admit though, try as I may, the dry shower is beyond me. I've used dry shampoo. I've drunk dry sherry. But a dry shower?

When my wife first pointed out the error of my ways I thought she was joking. Having a shower without getting things wet was like trying to make an omelet without breaking eggs. I thought she may have been trying to show me up by pointing out my total ignorance of Japanese lifestyles -- it's one of her favorite pastimes.

But after I was marched back to the shower and the evidence of my crimes was laid before me -- the dripping walls, the puddles of water on the bath cover, the waterfall where the mirror used to be -- I began to have second thoughts.

Perhaps the dry shower is part of my very own pilgrim's progress. A journey through frustration, head-shaking disbelief and misunderstanding. Or some ideal of Oriental mysticism like the one-hand clap or the Indian rope trick, or yoga "flying." Some stage that I have to aspire to or attain along the road to perfection -- my complete assimilation into Japanese society.

Or of course it could be that after 17 years of marriage, my wife has found another one of my "eccentric" habits that she doesn't like.

I'd welcome any comments or opinions, in Japanese or English, about my column. You can write or fax me at The Weekly, or e-mail me at jtweekly@japantimes.co.jp

The Japan Times Weekly: Aug. 30, 2003
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