Love in a Bathtub*

The simple idea of it sooths me. It warms me, in these months of cold, when no matter the setting on the thermostat, it’s still not warm enough. It is escape, quiet, time alone. My mind doesn’t wander to problems most difficult and to-do lists full of tasks. In there here and now, I’m also deep in someone else’s life. Or in a place far away. Yet still at home, in my bathtub.

Oh, the bathtub. Ever since I was a child, it’s been my refuge. An option for entertainment when boredom strikes. A vehicle for procrastination. As a teenager, I’d spend hours, literally, in the tub with a book. The water started out steaming hot, and as it cooled, I’d alternately let some of the cool out and then refill with fresh, hot water. I’d emerge a wrinkly raisin, shriveled by satisfied.

I’ve had different bathing phases throughout my life. Once off at college, there was no option. No tub in my shared, suite bathroom, for the first three years. Finally, the senior year apartment had a nice white tub … almost new. My roommates thought me crazy, but whenever I could grab a few spare moments, that small room was all mine. Let them all use the powder room … that bathroom was reserved!

Post-collegiate apartments contained bathrooms that were afterthoughts of penny-pinching renovationally-challeneged landlords. I suppose the few square feet of floor space that a tub takes up were put to better use … in the crappy galley kitchens? No. In the almost non-existent laundry closets? Nope.

And then … salvation! J and I bought our house, just before we got married. It’s an early 1900s row house, and had been subject to some horrendous renovations. But the former owner did do one good thing. He left in place three original cast-iron clawfoot tubs, all full sized. Plus one mini clawfoot tub residing the backyard, under a leaking downspout. Add to the mix one tan laminate tub-shower-wall cubicle combo in the unfinished basement Not installed, mind you, but hooked up to a hose for water, and another hose leading into a floor drain. And not in a bathroom, per se, but just floating in the middle of the room. Apparently, he lived down there on occasion. I won’t even go into his other creepy habits that we later learned about. Freaky.

For years, I loved those tubs (the full size clawfoots). While they were dingy, marred, nicked, painted and wallpapered (?) with questionable taste, they are just the right size to hug your body. Not enough space to squirm around too much, but enough to be comfortable. They are just the right size for an across the tub rack that holds a drink and book. What more could a water-loving nymph like me want?

We renovated that house a few years ago, and oh yes, I discovered what more I could want. Namely, a little more space and some kick-ass jets and bubbles.

Winter always finds me in the bath, almost with daily regularity. I’ve been so cold lately, and it’s one of the only ways I can feel good. Just plain, old good.

The ingredients for my perfect soak include:

*A stack of magazines or catalogs, or perhaps a delicious novel
*A cool drink (in the past it’s been wine in the evening, but now I’m digging ginger ale)
*A small snack of some sort (one must be careful when selecting a snack, because occasional overboard experience do happen. Have you ever seen a gumdrop floating in bathwater? Take my word for it … ugg.)
*A concoction for the bathwater … bubbles, salts, whatever’s available. Today it will be a bath bomb fizzer.
*A kitty cat.

Running water always draws the attention of my two little felines. They love to drink from the sink faucet, so the bathtub water is simply fascinating. Once the water reaches a higher lever, Sweet White Kitty positions herself on the tub surround. Her body flattens, inches forward, and one paw reaches down towards the reflective pool of water. Usually she undershoots it, and has to reach down even further, which makes me so nervous. Eventually, paw makes contact with water, and licking and grooming commences. Not such a good idea if bubble bath has been introduced into the mix, but she usually figures it out.

If small food pieces or bottle caps are in the immediate area, soccer wannabe Sweet White Kitty starts her match and things start flying into the water. Which is why I know about sticky, floating gumdrops.

I’m starting to feel nostalgic. It’s been 24 hours since my last visit. I can wait no longer … I’m off to take a dip now. Ta ta!

*with apologies to Sujata Bhatt