The idea of a bath
You know, I don't really enjoy taking bubble baths. I enjoy a shower more. But I really like the idea of bubble baths - the hedonistic pleasure of soaking in warmth, unable to accomplish anything much beyond rendering one's skin pruny. I love the scents of bath products, the colors of the gels, and the density of the perfumed foam floating on the surface of the water.
Usually, I approach the tub with an open mind, filling it with hot water and bath salts. Sometimes, I try a bath bomb - sandy scented spheres that fizz in contact with the water and release their aromas on the steam to float about the room. Other times, I am content with a generous squeeze of bubbling bath gel.
I slip in, wincing at the heat of the water, gingerly lowering myself into the scalding liquid. I savor the first few minutes of complete warmth, as I am usually cold. Settling into a quiescent recumbent posture to calm the waves that lap at my thighs, I let the water settle all about me. I scoop ambrosial bubbles to mound upon my breasts. And then? Nothing. Boredom.
I've tried reading in the tub, but I've ruined more books that way than I care to divulge. Washing, of course, ruins the bubbles, and really isn't the point of a bubble bath. Music in the background will either lull me to sleep or make me want to dance. The bath isn't conducive to either of these activities. A glass of wine? Snoozefest. But still, the idea remains.
Maybe someday I'll find the secret to enjoying a bath. For now, it's just a fragrant waste of time.
Usually, I approach the tub with an open mind, filling it with hot water and bath salts. Sometimes, I try a bath bomb - sandy scented spheres that fizz in contact with the water and release their aromas on the steam to float about the room. Other times, I am content with a generous squeeze of bubbling bath gel.
I slip in, wincing at the heat of the water, gingerly lowering myself into the scalding liquid. I savor the first few minutes of complete warmth, as I am usually cold. Settling into a quiescent recumbent posture to calm the waves that lap at my thighs, I let the water settle all about me. I scoop ambrosial bubbles to mound upon my breasts. And then? Nothing. Boredom.
I've tried reading in the tub, but I've ruined more books that way than I care to divulge. Washing, of course, ruins the bubbles, and really isn't the point of a bubble bath. Music in the background will either lull me to sleep or make me want to dance. The bath isn't conducive to either of these activities. A glass of wine? Snoozefest. But still, the idea remains.
Maybe someday I'll find the secret to enjoying a bath. For now, it's just a fragrant waste of time.
posted by Peevish McSnark at
6:50 PM
3 Comments:
Interesting! I can see your point. Me? I'm perfectly content to sit there for a while and let my brain just go to mush. Granted, I don't do it very often, and I don't tend to stay in there for hours or anything, but sometimes, the candles, music and quiet time are very much needed.
By
Anonymous, At
12:43 PM
Elisabeth I had a bath once a year, whether she needed it or not.
By
garfer, At
4:37 PM
I think that's the point.
There was a time in my life when I loved bubble baths, actually taking them. Now, the idea of using all that time just for a bath kind of stresses me out. Silly, perhaps, but true.
By
might I add...?, At
7:45 PM
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