The solo shower: a distant memory?

Every morning I wake up to the soft light coming through my window and I look over to see (usually) LPT & D snuggled up together, both softly snoring. It's adorable. So I sneak out of the room, taking care to NOT MOVE ANYTHING on the bed, lest I wake the sleeping Midget. If I make it to the hallway with no creaking floorboards or door hinges, it's a miracle. I try my hardest every single day to take a shower BY MYSELF. And I don't mean that suddenly D is likely to pop around the corner and jump in with me (like he did right after we got ourselves hitched). That could be enjoyable. Well, no, not really. My morning shower is strictly for cleaning purposes, and frankly, I'm all about doing that alone. Anyway, without fail, as soon as I am in th ebuff and stepping into the shower, I can hear over my morning news and the running water the faint pitter patter of little feet. LPT bounds into the bathroom, and she usually strips down and tries to get into the shower with me. Now, I love my daughter, but I dislike this for two reasons: (1) she's short, and she's a punk about the shower head. It has to be at her level AT ALL TIMES and if I take it to do something completely outrageous (like rinsing my hair!?!?) she gets very upset with me. (2) She's almost three, and she's becoming...curious. I've been (almost painfully) modest for as long as I can remember, so I'm not the best at fielding questions (that come from a 3-year-old) pertaining to my nether-regions. In short, she turns my showers into little stress-fests during which soap and shampoo are in my eyes while she is squinting (and horror of horrors, poking) asking, "What's that, Mama?"
No me gusta.
All right. That is one intro to the incident I want to tell about. The other is that we are potty training something fierce. She's got Dora underpanties, Elmo underpanties, and Curious George underpanties. And one special underpanties-and-camisole set with a BIG Dora on the top. We're doing underpanties (and a thousand mini-loads of laundry) during the day, and [Dora] pull-ups at night. The reward system consists of glittery star stickers, after LPT was thoroughly unimpressed with a candy reward.
The other day I was in the shower, hair freshly lathered with my special feel-good (read: expensive-ish) shampoo, and (!) LPT comes in, claiming a desperate need to wash her sticky hands. I told her to go ahead. Then she said something that did not fit at all with the context of her request.
"Mama, I don't want to step in it!"
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled back the curtain. I wasn't quite sure what to expect, exactly; I had not heard anything break, and I knew that since I had been in there by myself she had not had the opportunity to come in and squirt shower gel all over the floor. Standing there, with the Dora pull-up around her ankles, was Lil' Puddin' Tater. I immediately noticed the smear of what appeared to be poo on her knee. She pointed to the floor and repeated her desire not to step in whatever "it" was. I looked, and lo and behold: the contents of the poopy pull-up had exited the when she went to take it off, rolled across the floor, and landed somewhat between LPT and the shower. I was speechless. And soapy. So against all better judgement involving hygiene (and I just know that no one will ever want to come over to my house again) I told her to GENTLY take off the pull-up and get her little behind in the shower. Yes, I left the poo. And lordy, mercy: that child was filthy. I've never seen so much auxillary poo in my life, and the tub was streaked from where her little legs were too short to clear it completely. After the shower, I picked up the poo. For those of you rolling your eyes, I do not have a dog. I do not have a cat. I own no member of the rodent family. I am unaccustomed to cleaning up poo from any area besides a bottom, and the diapers usually make me gag a little. This was wretched work. LPT was fascinated. "Is that poopy, Mama? I shouldn't touch it?"
My only retribution is that I can save this post and show it to all her friends when she is about 12 or so (that's when the parent-behavior-mortification stuff sets in, right?).