The concept of taking a bath is lost on me.
Yesterday, on lunch break from jury duty, after a stressful night, after a stressful morning, I decided to ditch out on going to work and go to Macys to stuff myself with Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes. The last time I was in that particular Macys was during Lollapalooza when Lindsay dragged us along so she could stock up on her favorite Lush bath products. While eating my lunch I got the idea in my head that I should buy a bath bomb and that I should take a bath. Baths are supposed to be relaxing and I needed to relax. So I went to Lush and bought myself one, it was powder green with flecks of purple flowers and smelled like a garden.
After jury duty, after ditching out on going to work, after dinner, I filled up a tub with warm water. When aptly full I dropped the bomb in and watched it fizzle like an Alka-Seltzer, dissolving, depositing a trail of flower petals and confetti and mesh objects and turning the water the color of Ecto-Cooler.
I stepped, one foot at a time, into the too-hot water, watching my skin instantly go red. I immediately felt like a human tea bag. I contemplated what exactly you’re supposed to do while “bathing” and just how long I had to sit submerged in water until I could justify that the $6 bath bomb had been appropriately cost-effective.
I thought maybe I could read, but in order to peruse my Martha Stewart Living without completely soaking it I had to hang out over the side and be almost completely out of the bathtub or hold the magazine so far above my head that my arms ached and my neck creaked and my eyes strained to read it. I gave up on that idea.
I thought maybe I’d just lay back and close my eyes which may have been a good idea if the bathtub was padded and my head wasn’t resting in a soap dish with no where to look but down at my naked body and contemplate how much weight I’ve gained in the past four years.
I think I spent about ten minutes in the bath after ten minutes of filling it and before the ten minutes I spent wiping the tub of flower petals and tin confetti and cleaning the drain of flower petals and tin confetti. I figure that ten minutes is at least longer than it takes me to suck down a $5 pumpkin spice latte, so I guess the price point is about right.
I’ll give Lindsay credit that watching the bomb dissolve was probably the most exciting moment of my day and it smelled and looked mighty pretty. But I don’t know if I’m a bath girl. Or maybe I was just doing it wrong.