I Really Suck At Baths

No, really. I do.

They make me feel guilty. I can't help it. How else am I supposed to feel sitting there in the tub, waiting for copious hot, clean water to fill the basin, knowing that some kid in rural Mozambique would kill for clean water that came that easy? Sitting there relaxing, when families in Bahrain are mourning the loss of loved ones who were mercilessly shot down by police forces today during peaceful protests?

Baths probably are not the best time for thinking like this. But I need to keep my mind occupied somehow. Otherwise, I just hone in on everything that makes a bath awkward.

1. Laying on your back and staring down at your folded up, naked body. WELL HI THERE, SELF.
2. Having nobody else to blame those fart bubbles on.
3. Realizing that your average bathtub was not designed for people over 4'10''.
4. Realizing that you look utterly unsexy contorting your body to fit in said bathtub.
5. Realizing that there is no way to get comfortable on fiberglass.
6. Feeling stupid for even trying.
7. And that you just wasted all this water.
8. And are still dirty.
9. And now you have to waste more water to shower.

SEE?!?! Baths suck.

I've tried everything. Once I tried filling up the bathtub just partway, thinking that I could still get the "bath effect" without feeling guilty for wasting so much water. PROBLEM: The part of my body submerged in water was warm, but the rest was freezing. I tried solving this by laying on my right side for a few minutes, and then switching to my left. If I did it often enough, no side of my body ever got too cold.

Brock came into the bathroom and looked down at me, perplexed. I explained the situation to him.

"You look so . . . so . . . I dunno . . "

"What?" I prodded. Relaxed? Sexy? Desirable?

"Just . . . pathetic. Sitting there in your two inches of water, rolling over from side to side to keep warm."

"I'm trying not to waste a precious resource, okay?!"

"What, by acting like a rotisserie chicken?"

***

I gave the tub another go tonight. And I filled that sucker up with water until I just couldn't take it anymore.

Enter Brock.

"Aren't your boobs cold?"

"Shut up."

"But hey! There's definitely more water than last time! Progress!"

I sighed. "I just can't do it. Look at me. One of the world's privileged white people, sitting here waiting for all this water to fill the tub . . . a biography of Kissinger within arm's reach waiting for me to lazily flip through its pages as I sit here . . . soaking . . . "

Brock looked down and reassessed the situation.

"Honey, you're folded up like a freaking pretzel down there. You didn't put in any bubbles. All the lights are on, no candles. No music. And that book within arm's reach? Yeah, it's resting on top of the bathroom trash can. All things considered, I wouldn't be feeling too guilty."

He left the room, laughing. I sat alone in that wretched tub. Feeling guilty and stupid.

And my boobs were cold.