This morning I took a bath. That may not seem unusual, but I’m really more of a shower girl. Six years ago I was ecstatic when we had a whirlpool tub installed, but the excitement wore off pretty quickly. I don’t have a lot of leisure time, and when half that time is spent waiting on a tub to fill it sort of takes the fun out of it.
But today was different. Hubby told me he would take care of the kids so that I could spend the entire day doing whatever my heart desired. Since flying to Hawaii was out of the question, and driving to Shipshewana would only cost slightly less, I opted to lock myself in the bathroom for a few hours.
I wanted everything to be just right so that I could fully enjoy this annual bathing experience. First, I had to clean out the tub because not only was it dusty, but I’m ashamed to say, I had begun using it as storage space.
Next, I flipped through our satellite stations trying to choose the appropriate music. We normally listen to bluegrass, but as much as I enjoy it, I can’t say it relaxes me. I finally settled on classic jazz because, truth be known, I have this secret fantasy of sitting in the back corner of a smoky little jazz bar and gazing into the eyes of the man I love. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m on the stage singing a sultry song while wearing a sultry little dress that, in my fantasy world, doesn’t make me look anything like a sack of potatoes.
I dusted off the candle my sister gave me for Christmas. It has a fresh, new-age scent that she said they use in spas to help you relax. I wasn’t sure I was completely comfortable with the smell so I also lit a pumpkin spice candle, just in case.
Choosing a bubble bath proved to be a little more difficult. There was the half-empty, gallon jug of Martian Melon or an unused bottle of Peony. Peonies remind me of my grandma, and I was in too good of a mood to spend time missing her, but Martian Melon wasn’t exactly the grown-up scent I had in mind. Then I remembered, behind the Lysol and the can of spray starch I used that one time, there was a sophisticated little bottle of Black Raspberry Vanilla that someone had given to me years’ ago. I blew off the dust and poured it in.
I don’t know why I’d never seen it before, but at this point I noticed the bathroom windows had become quite dirty. The tub is situated specifically for window gazing so I grabbed a bottle of Windex and climbed in while the water was still running. I kept a close eye on the driveway lest someone pull in and think I make a habit of doing housework in the nude. When the Windex started dripping into the candles, causing the flames to come dangerously close to sagging body parts, I decided the windows were clean enough.
I finally sat down to enjoy the bath, but the sun was glaring through the clean windows and right into my eyes. I turned the other direction only to find myself face to face with an ironing board and all the clutter I’d just removed from the tub. I sunk down into the water so that I was eye level with the bubbles. I liked the bubbles; they were all dimply just like my thighs.
The jazz trumpet was starting to give me a headache, and I couldn’t stop wondering about the xylophone player. I began playing the xylophone in high school when the new band director discovered how poorly I played the clarinet. It never occurred to me that I could have become a xylophone recording artist. I turned on the jets to drown out the sound of the music, but the stirring water caused the bubbles to rise above my head. That was fun for about two minutes.
I finally decided that my feet were soft enough for a good pedicure, so I grabbed a towel, drained the water, and returned the clutter to the tub.
I spent the rest of the day taking myself out to lunch, going to a movie, and buying new bras. Maybe next year I’ll feel up to taking another bath.
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