Tuesday, February 26, 2013


When Jim asked me when was the last time that someone was in my bathtub, I scrunched up my face to give it some real thought. Five or six months ago, I think. I don’t like baths. The idea of marinating in a Megan broth isn't even close to appealing. And that bath five months ago was with The Wasband; it was part of me trying to edit my behaviors to be a better wife. (Fail.)

I’ve been irked since recalling the last time that my tub got play. Even though the darling maids dust the thing every two weeks, I suddenly felt like there was a residue in the big basin. I figured it was time to wash that man right outta my tub.

So I took a bath.

And what I got was a big fat reminder of why I never do it. Planning a damn bath is like putting together a road trip—making the event worth my time is a freaking production. I keep bubble bath for when the nieces and nephews are in town. (Because what kid doesn’t go bananas for a soothing soak in some lavender and chamomile water? No worries though, I also keep Crayola colored bath tablets on hand to mitigate the feminine stodginess of a tub scented with herbs and tea.) So I fetched that goo from the guest bathroom. See, when it comes to a bath, bubbles are necessary. I can’t understand the allure of baths in the first place, so I extra can’t understand sitting in a tub without some obscuring element. Especially if you’re a dude. Seeing as the male genitalia isn’t God’s finest work, there’s something flawed about a guy sitting in a self-pond watching his junk float in the water like fleshy kelp. So I say get some bubbles to hide that shit. A bath’s supposed to be pleasant, right?

So that the soak didn’t bore me to sleep, I played Cupcake Wars on my computer and set it on the bathroom counter. So that the experience could be productive, I got the shaving cream and razor out of my shower. And knowing that I was going to do some ritual bathing, earlier today I bought some tension-releasing bath salts of some kind. Not the smartest $7 I’ve ever spent, ‘cause those things ain’t never gettin’ used again. Someone please invent this: bath salts that double as candy. Then at least they wouldn’t go to waste. Oh, and so that I didn’t starve or find myself wanting to drink the bathwater, I put a snack and a soda nearby.

Then there’s this: I suck at drawing baths. Did you know that’s a skill? Oh, it is, and I don’t have it. The damn tub was taking for-ev-urh to fill up, so I checked the drain. It was closed tight. The problem: I didn’t have the faucet open all the way. So I turned up the water, (Is that even a thing?) which introduced the ineludible temperature problem:

I make the hottest friggin’ baths you’ve ever taken. It means that once the tub is finally full and I’m starkers, I dip a toe, practically burn the little appendage right off and have to go get my robe so that I don’t freeze to death while I’m waiting for the bath to cool down. But I’m not patient. So I give it like, uh, a minute and a half before I’m naked again and perched on the edge of the tub shaving my legs. It takes twenty minutes before I can actually sit down all the way in the tub, and by that time I’ve got sweat trailing down my neck and feel like I need a shower. Even if I dump gallons of ice water in the bath before I get in, I'll always end up sweaty and befuddled about the merits of the whole thing.

And I can't seem to manage to put in the right amount of bubble bath. If I’m making your bath it will be three-quarters bubbles, and, once drained, the tub will sound like Pop Rocks for the next hour and a half while all the froth dissolves.

But it was worth it. There’s a new scum in the tub. And it’s all mine.


Shar said...

Aaahhhhhhhh! Been trying to comment before my Ambien really kicks in and I drop my phone on my face. Google sign in hates me tonight. Plus I'm startling to get sloppy.

Anyway, this made me laugh! Well, all your posts do. I used to hate baths and while talking to my bath loving best friend, she asked me how I was doing it (I was doing like you said above) and she said I was doing it all wrong. You get in the bath and THEN start the water and sit in it while it fills up. Perfect temperature every time. Totally changed my bath perspective. And then my three kids all jump in and I get the hell out. My own broth, eh, but gross little kid broth, barf.

Megan said...

Shar, you win the gross war. Gross Little Kid Broth. Ewww! I like the idea of a perfect temperature, but what about the time you're awkwardly sitting naked in a gradually filing tub, whatnot just hangin' all over the place?

And dude, I totally know what you mean about dropping your phone on your face once the Ambien does its job. And assuming your experience with Ambien is like mine, you have exactly no memory of leaving that comment.