Murphy’s Law and bathing bliss

Do not ever say to your husband, boyfriend, significant other, sister, mother, friend or coworker: “You know, it’s almost March and we have managed to avoid getting sick. I mean, the kids had the sniffles one time back in November, but that’s all. We have been so lucky.”

You know what happened next.

I got the flu. Usually if I succumb to a bug, it’s the gut-wrenching miserable kind. On a possibly positive note, I have the other type … tight chest, aches, pains, can’t breathe, dry hack kind of flu that a flu shot would have prevented (so they say). It’s miserable. In case you didn’t know, mommies are not allowed to fall ill. There’s this unspoken rule about it. So while the terrible two-fer was down for a nap and my other two offspring dutifully practiced their spelling words, I snuck away. I took a shower.  A very long shower. A very, very, very long hot and steamy shower that made me feel quite a bit better. It’s best not to look at the clock when you plan on a long shower, because then you cannot be held accountable for the amount of time you spent flushing water down the drain. Note: If we had to pay for water out here, I would have settled for a long, hot and steamy sponge bath. Promise. 

Speaking of baths … I want one of those too. Just like this … from Restoration Hardware … in my dreams.

classic-victorian-clawfoot-tub

There is only one tub in this house. The last time the kids used it, water ran through the dining room ceiling. Obviously we haven’t used it since then … waiting on farm boy to pull out his plumbing repertoire and fix the problem. Apparently it takes a good deal of consideration before cutting a hole in the ceiling and assessing the damage. So much consideration, that five months have passed and he’s STILL considering. Yes, you heard me. The three females in this house have had to give up bathing all winter long. And it’s something we truly enjoy doing. A nice hot bubble bath can cure the doldrums, the crankies, the grouchies and the not-ready-for-bed-syndrome. We have been known to grab a towel and sneak away to grandma’s for a bath on occasion. We have even been known to complain profusely about the lack of bathing opportunities in this house.

It doesn’t matter. Most men have the same opinion of tubs: “Why would you want to sit in your own filth?” They just don’t get it. A tub isn’t for washing. It’s for relaxing. If you have a tub and a box of Calgon or Strawberry Shortcake bubble bath or even a bottle of Dawn … enjoy. I envy you.

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