What do you go on vacation to do? I take baths.
I live in a studio apartment which has a walk-in closet and as a trade off, a tiny bathroom. It's practically a ship's head. Every year I work at Campout for Hunger and I'm always amazed that the RV's bathroom is bigger than mine. Actually, last year the RV had more square feet than my apartment and I thought about just living in Wal Mart parking lots because at least the RV had a washer-dryer. But my tiny bathroom has a very small shower that some gentlemen callers have not been able to shower properly in, and no tub. So no baths.
But but but where do you go to cry with wine, you're asking? I know, I KNOW. I have to have my good cries on the sofa like a ridiculous person.
If you're one of those people in the 1% who have soaking tubs put into their redone bathrooms and then never use them because they're "just a hassle to clean" then why are you even reading this and can I come over? I swear I'll bring Scrubbing Bubbles. You really don't know what you've got 'till it's gone--one day you couldn't care a fig about having a soak and the next day you realize it's been five years since your last bubble bath and it makes you sad for some reason. Tiny-apartment dwellers of the world are nodding their heads in agreement.
So you can imagine how excited I was when I got to go to the Footloose press junket in LA and stay at the fancy-schmantz Roosevelt Hotel. Yes the thing I was most excited for was the tub. I even brought a 3floz Ulta Smoothie in dragonfruit frappe because I was serious about doing this right. So serious, in fact, that I chose the bubbles over hair conditioner because they both wouldn't fit in my ziploc liquids baggie.
My first night, the screening finished around 9:30, and my ear was plugged up completely like it always does after I fly so I was half-screaming at people and shouldn't have been going out anyway. I ran the water and poured in half the bottle of smoothie [for everyone going OMG a hotel bath the germs I always clean it all myself and bring my own sheets ack! Don't worry, it was clean, I have my ways, and I didn't get herpes or TB, ok?]. I cracked a Heineken because the tiny bottles of wine in the mini bar were 35 dollars and I didn't know at the time that there was a CVS a block away--my one regret.
At this point my neighbors started being extremely loud. There were lots of voices, so they were having some sort of party, and it was still early by LA standards, so they were just getting started. They were ruining my bath! However, there was a chance that the following would ensue: I knock on the door to say you guys are sooo loud! And they say well why don't you party with us and then you won't mind. And I say ok whatever and it turns out they know someone famous or powerful or etc who falls head over heels for me and boom--fame and fortune and a life of golden tubs and bubbles both real and champagne. What would I choose?
Reader, I bathed. I pretended I was Marilyn Monroe, who may or not have been there in spirit since she allegedly haunts the place. It was glorious.
Image: David Castillo Dominici / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
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