I don't consider myself to be a very high-maintenance person. Some days, I even forget to brush my hair. I can go for several days without a shower if need be and not whine about it. Other than Blistex with color added, makeup hasn't been in my repertoire pretty much since moving aboard, and I've thinned my wardrobe to fit into one drawer and two shelves, along with a dress or two sharing a hook with my foul-weather jacket. My collection of timelessly styled stiletto heels stayed in the storage unit, traded for those dubious fashion statements, flip-flops and Keenes. I forfeited my own fluffy bathrobe, goose-down pillows that would never survive the humidity, and numerous other petty comforts. I was ready, when we moved aboard, to pare my life to fit a more simple way of living, and I remain committed to that-well, most of the time. Until, that is, someone waves a marble shower, Jacuzzi tub, and/or a featherbed in my face.