I’m really quite annoyed with baths. These seemingly innocuous pieces of bathroom furniture that spout lies my way, have me up in arms. Indeed, this is a post well deserving of a “Random Rambling”. So what’s this issue that I have with the beloved bath? I mean, they’re full of splish splashy bubbly fun, right? Wrong. That is all wrong.
I hate baths. I feel like I’ve been conned by the entire movie and novel industries respectively. It’s all lies I tell you, lies! Picture the scene: a young woman, hair piled atop her head in the most adorable and effortless fashion. Sitting snug and comfortable in the bath whilst she relaxes, bathed in the sensuous glow of candlelight while she reads her novel, blissful in her content of the moment. She washes away the troubles of her day and those few bubbles that have made their innocent, happy way onto her cheeks, tip of her nose and hair have us all sighing in sweet delight at this cute-as-a-button heroine.
What a load of crap.
Real life baths have no such connection to the romanticism of fictional baths. A real life bath is a horrid affair not to mention that it’s a freaken death trap ready to spring at you the moment you lack any adhesive ducks (yup, that’s a Sheldon a la Big Bang Theory quote). My first gripe with this cesspool of filth (I’ll get to that point in a moment) is that they’re just too damn small. I am 1.75m tall (or 5ft 8in for my imperial system readers) which is taller than the average female and guess what? I can’t fit in the bath! There is no way that I can comfortably stretch my legs out in front of me unless I want to sit bolt upright which means that there will be no “luxurious lounging” in said bath. If I DO want to lay down, then I get that stupid drainage bath wall plug thing stuck in my neck (or my back) and I couldn’t even be bothered to switch sides as I’d have the faucet to contend with, banging into the back of my head as I make the slightest movements. Baths are a fail.
Then there’s the whole “reading a novel in the bath” idea. Whoever came up with that revolting lie is an idiot. Have you ever tried to read a book in the bath and NOT get any pages wet? Try it, I dare you. Many a book has traversed a bath with me only for me to get the pages wet no matter how hard I try not to. Seriously, wet pages that are stuck together while you delicately try to peel them apart only to get the pages more wet all the while swearing under your breath is not fun. Or romantic. Or heroic. Although I may offer you points for your heroic struggles. And let’s be practical, is anyone REALLY going to dry their hands off EVERY time they want to turn a page? I think not.
The other qualm I have is that baths are ultimately boring. While most people have the ability to switch off and relax, be alone with their thoughts, I find the concept of lounging in my own filth while trying to discover the secrets of the universe thoroughly off putting. Why can’t I theorise outside of a bath? I find my best concepts arise when I’m doing something else. In the shower perhaps where I’m actively doing something but in a bath, no. I would love to get some splish splashy fun bath toys (rubber ducks, boats, that sort of thing) to incorporate into the pointlessness that is a bath to liven things up a bit, but let’s face it. I’m 27 years old. And even in the privacy of a bath, acting that much of a fool (even to myself) is a bit embarrassing. And I probably embarrass myself a lot more in public than I need to display in my private time as well.
So yeah, this pretty much sums up this rant. Oh yes, before I forget (and HOW could I forget this point?) there’s the idea of bathing in my own filth. That’s just, well, no. Every time I’ve ever had a bath, I’ve jumped straight into the shower afterwards (which is what you should do).
Please don’t misunderstand. I absolutely love the idea of a bath and the accessories that surround this nightly ritual are awesome and smell divine but sadly, my grumpiness surrounding baths just won’t allow me to enjoy it and I’m totally okay with that. If you do, however, spot me in the local Clicks and so forth, and I’m about to buy yet another bubble bath and bath salt, please stop me. For my sanity and my wallets sake, please rugby tackle that shizz out of my hands while yelling “Cease and desist, woman!”