Friday, May 13, 2011

Worst Bath Ever - Ode to ye ol Victorian.

Imagine, if you will....

I feel the itchy/scratchiness of a cold coming on.  The kind where it hurts on one side of your throat to swallow and you feel mostly otherwise fine and look mostly fine so you can't call in sick for work until your nose starts running down your face when you are nowhere near a tissue.  That kind of sick.

It's a quiet night in my new house and I think to myself, self, you should hop into that claw foot bathtub for a restful soak.  Brilliant idea, Mich.  (I like to give myself kudos.)

But first, I probably should scrub it out, because who knows really.

So I get the comet and a scrub brush and I go to work, totally proud of myself for my incentive amidst my looming illness.  I rinse out the now sparkling ceramic and light an aromatic candle (a flavor I like to call Christmas but it's probably just cinnamon or pine or something).  Then I think, well, I should probably shower first so any leftover soapsies will go down the drain.  A comet bath probably does not do wonders for the human skin.

Shower show, crap!, I need to find the plug for this bad boy.  So I climb out (it's a high tub) dripping wet fumbling around in an as yet un-traversed below-the-sink cupboard which per usual is full of bits and bobs that aren't mine making it difficult to carefully find something - and I locate the damn thing.  And I'm fucking freezing because let's be real, it's San Francisco.

Even prouder still, I get back in and start to run the bath and sit in the basin marveling at how I can lie down fully and, in theory, submerge, boobs and all!  The size of the tub begins to turn into a pitfall as I see the hot water is trickling-at-best out of the faucet and the .5 inch layer of water at the bottom is not serving to keep me warm.  And you know the water at the back is always cold.  So I'm shivering again trying to cup handfuls of warmth over my balled up body.  Flashback to that scene in What's Eating Gilbert Grape.  Poor Leo.  

Ponder ponder ponder.  I will make this work.  How can I make this work.  I get out, leaving the tap running (I know wasting water blah blah but the drought is over right?), and I rush to the kitchen to boil some water in our newfangled boiler pot thing!  All the while, not noticing I'm standing in front of the kitchen window in plain view to the buildings across the yard.  Oh well, I'm busy.

So now I'm shivering in the kitchen, and we all know what they say about waiting for water to boil.  Or a watched pot doesn't boil?  Maybe we don't all know and it's electric anyway so it finally did.  And I then toss that into the bath and hop in!  Victory!

Cold.  Everything cold.  Defeat.

Fine I'll shower.  But low and behold; the shower water is now cold, as I wasted the mid-temp on my shit-town bath that was destined for failure. 

Best part is, P. Kitty watching me run back and forth the whole time likely thinking, you idiot.  Whatever cat.  Whatever.

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