Three days ago, I had a bath.
Now, I appreciate that you all might think of such an event as wholly unremarkable – and I might have felt the same way, until I actually attempted it. (Please note I’m not announcing here that, incredibly, I washed. I’m talking specifically about a bath rather than a shower.)
A number of decades ago, certainly in the UK, baths were pretty popular. You’d have one of those racks that spanned the width of the tub that held your soap, sponge, rubber ducky… there was just no greater joy. Then a big towel and a dressing gown (bathrobe) were awaiting your wrinkly exit.
Nowadays, showers are the thing, unless you’re having some romantic rendezvous in a film like ‘Pretty Woman’ or ‘The Bridges of Madison County’. Those scenes always make taking a bath together look so luxurious and sensual, but at some point, someone has to stand up or move around, and that is a tough manoeuvre to elegantly pull off. Suppose you slip, and an errant toe goes somewhere it shouldn’t? Keep those nails clipped at all times.
Showers are quick, efficient and you can get on with your day with minimal interruption. When I was renovating my house’s rooms, the advice was to keep one tub ‘maximum’, in case I sold it down the line to a family with young kids or a baby. I followed this wise guidance, so now my master bedroom is the only one still with a bath. It’s also the one room that hasn’t yet been upgraded.
It might have been a walk around the home stores that triggered my interest in soaking, rather than spritzing, once again. The showrooms had free-standing tubs that looked more like works of art than your average functional plumbing. You know the type I mean, with lines like a fine automobile, and a design that fans out at the top, resembling a blossoming flower. I could picture myself in that garden – effortlessly lifting one leg in the air to clean it with a large sponge, while bluebirds sang on my windowsill.
I hadn’t used my bath in ages – did I need to slow down my schedule a bit and be coddled by some bubbles?
So, after a particularly long day of running around earlier this week, I figured it was time to reacquaint myself with the bathing experience. In went the plug, and I turned the tap on full, making sure the water was good and hot.
Next on the agenda was the addition of a goodly squeeze of bubble bath. I might have been a little bit over-enthusiastic, as a mountain of suds began to slowly rise up before me. It meant I had to turn the water off earlier than planned, lest the soap breached the confining walls, which would send it cascading onto the bathroom floor. My cat Chiqui seemed visibly alarmed by the sight, meowing with a wide-eyed glare as she backed away from the area. Nonetheless, it all looked pretty inviting. Why hadn’t I done this more often?
I sent in an exploratory toe, like a canary into the coal mine, which reported back that beneath the foamy surface, the water was searing hot. I yelped and immediately withdrew a now very pink extremity.
It took about 10 minutes before I could bear it up to the calf, and then the other foot had to go in.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the bath, ready to descend. And yes – how was I to achieve that, exactly? When I was young, sitting in a bath wasn’t something I even thought about. Like handstands and cartwheels, I just did it. Now, however, the method was escaping me. I couldn’t just drop where I stood – it would send a tidal wave into the room, with the Statue of Liberty broken and floating towards the bidet. (Anyone who has watched a disaster film knows that Lady Liberty always bites the dust at some point.)
It was ridiculous – I didn’t know where to put my hands, how to brace myself properly, how to avoid putting my knees through 270 degrees… I had to make a decision, before things started cooling down too much, so I leaned against the back wall, and slowly started shimmying down, holding the sides of the bath to avoid a too-rapid descent. Thankfully, it was a deep tub, so as more of me connected with the water, it took some of the weight off my joints.
“Okay, okayyy… ,” I said, out loud, thinking that Meryl Streep probably didn’t go through this before Clint Eastwood joined her. I was nearly in place, but then the largest part of me (ahem) was yet to slide in. I didn’t have to call on my schooling to know that this could be a game-changer.
According to the Encyclopaedia Britannica, “When an object enters water, it pushes out water to make room for itself. The object pushes out a volume of water that is equal to its own volume. This is called displacement.”
That was one word for it. As I made the final drop, for an instant, I was almost dry, as gallons of liquid flew down to the tap end of the tub, and then crested back like the impressive monsters you see off the coast of Hawaii. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see Laird Hamilton surfing his way towards my chest.
I got a faceful of suds on the wave’s return journey, but almost all of the contents remained contained, and quickly things settled down. For about 30 minutes, I relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of semi-weightlessness, barely able to hear the roosters crowing outside. Calgon, take me away.
Of course, me being me, I couldn’t linger indefinitely. I got antsy and restless, so just as my fingertips became really pruny, I figured it was time to exit. I could go into the details, but then this would turn into a double-page column. Suffice it to say that there was one crucial moment when I really thought my arms were going to give out on me, as I felt the bath trying to suck me back in like a vacuum. Needless to say, no one is more grateful than I that there were no witnesses to this caper. Angles were unforgiving. I could just see the headlines: ‘Columnist creates unprecedented airtight seal with body; Jaws of Life employed in landmark rescue’.
As you’ve probably realised, I managed to escape, but it was the most arduous workout I’d had in years. When the renovations happen, I think there’s a solo shower in my future. Either that, or one of those baths with a door for the elderly, advertised on daytime TV. Time to put the spice back in my life.
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