My dear friend Reece is getting married in June. Reece’s bridal shower was 2 weeks ago and me and our friend Jen were responsible for the party favors. We decided to do something that might be useable but also fun for the guests because when was the last time anyone ever said “Oh, yes! Jordan Almonds in net baggies!”? So we ordered 50-something bath fizzies, a.k.a. bath bombs, a.k.a. bath-ka seltzer, to hand out. Approximately 3 people actually took them home, so we had a lot of leftovers. I took three and used one of them last night. If anyone wants two bath fizzie-bomb-ka seltzers, call me.
As the directions stated, I placed the Sun-Ripened Raspberry scented ball into a tub of warm water and watched it fizz into action, dissolving into a Pepto-pink puddle. It smelled nice! Also, even though the scent was “Sun-Ripened Raspberry”, we didn’t get them from Bath and Body Works, the store that trademarks and owns that scent. We bought them from Jojo the internet bath lady. A++++ buying experience! F minus-minus-minus bathing experience!
I climbed into my New York City-sized tub (not the size of the city, of course, but the size of what an administrative assistant who lives in the city and earns a below-average income can afford. Which is to say small, but at least not in my kitchen as so many tubs in the city are. Ok , I’ve never seen a tub in a kitchen, but the myth exists.) So I’m trying to displace as much water with as much of me as I can and still, most of my body isn’t really wet. I think my tub has a safety drain. Is that what you call it? That hole near the tub’s spout that drinks up any excess water so you won’t overflow and flood your possibly-Mafia-affiliated landlord’s house below. Yeah, a safety drain. Ensuring my safety against the angry outburst of my possibly-Mafia-affiliated landlord. I’m too young and pretty to sleep with fishes! BUT ANYWAY!
So I’m in the tub and quickly remembering why I’m not a bath person. How is this enjoyable? It’s very hard, my tailbone is digging into the textured, no-slip grippy thing on the floor of the tub, and my legs, which are unusually short, are too long to extend in this tub. So I’m hunched in a bent-knee position and I also decide that this is the night I’m not only going to take a bath but I’m going to listen to a podcast of This American Life while I do so. Who am I? I am a Birkenstock-wearing, PBS-donating, colored-frame-for-my-glasses-wearing, neighborhood-association-meeting-attending 50-year old is who. But wait! The TAL podcast was no ordinary episode. It was the one about the prisoners at Guantanamo. I was in the tub relaxing to THAT! I’m crying at how this sounds now, too. You’re not the only one.
So there I am relaxing, or at least questioning how I planned to relax when I was done listening to the prisoner who tried to kill himself because it was a better option than continually being beaten, stripped and humiliated, and I’m not really paying attention to my tubbing. I shifted position a couple times, but really, in that tub? Please.
But I noticed that my knees – bent and out of the water – were so pale compared to my thighs and calves which were submerged under water. Was the water really that hot that my blood rushed to the surface and my skin had flushed? Or was a slowly dyeing myself like a human Easter egg in this pink-tinted water, unaware that while I mulled over the importance of the ACLU, my extremities were getting redder than red? Quite a way to PAAS the time. (Sorry. I had to.) I tried to evenly distribute water all over my skin now, basting myself in it so that I might just look sort of sunburned and not the bath equivalent of farmer’s tanned. After a few minutes of splashing around and not being able to hear part 2 of TAL at ALL, I dried off my right hand, paused the show and turned on the shower. I mean, come on. That’s how most baths end, isn’t it? In a shower. Are you really going to shampoo your hair and then dip it in your dirty bathwater to rinse? I don’t. And I wouldn’t understand you if you did. I showered off as much pink as possible but didn’t even attempt to rinse the pink ring that was ever so faint around the tub itself. One thing at a time, first we remove the egg, then we wash the vinegar soaked bowl, then we have a happy Easter.
So I washed off all the stuff that was supposed to be cleaning in the first place and emerged a more confused person than ever. How do people take baths often and really, I mean really, get clean? Is there a trick to it that I don’t know about? And how can our government be so horrible to innocent people? Water torture abounded last night in my bathroom in so many ways. This bath bombed.