Why? I don't know..

I went through a year long phase as a kid where I refused to bathe. I waged a war against soap and other dirt removing products. During the summer there was a week where I got up in the morning reached down and pulled on my favorite purple striped, terry-cloth zip up jumper everyday that week.
I would crawl in the grass, scoot through dirt and sweat like the tomboy I was on a Michigan summer day. I'd go home and pretend to be a ghost in the hopes my mom wouldn't notice. In her usual half hearted way she would call up for me to take a shower. I would sit very still like a deer listening for a predator, toys in hand, careful to not clink them together. When she got no response she would walk away and I would resume my life as I saw fit.
This all changed of course. Everything perfect and blissful ends. Dad came home from a long hiatus to again rule the roost. There was more insistence on getting my nasty ass in the shower. Dad was a tough ass but he couldn't control everything. He would corner me with reprimands about my stink and direct me into the bathroom, turn on the shower, make me get in in his presence and close the bathroom door and sit in the living room right outside until I was done.
I would plaster myself against the side of the shower, avoiding the spray. I would stand that way for an eternity of ten minutes and at the very end, lean my head into the water to wet my hair as evidence that I'd washed. Towel off my hair and put on my pjs. Viola! clean (looking) kid. Maybe they weren't fooled, but in my little 9 year old brain I'd won.

Ahhh, those were the days...