Mr. Bubble

First off, the hotel we stayed in was lovely. Bill was so sweet to make sure it had a big bath tub. When I cleaned houses (before I went back to school to get my degree and my teaching license) I vowed NEVER to succumb to the temptation of a soaking bath tub with jets, because cleaning one is NOT fun. I WAS thinner then, but climbing around squirting and scrubbing, wiping and shinning was hard. So, I felt quite queenly having a bubble bath this morning. First mistake: too much bubble bath. Bubbles piled up fast! I worried that I was going to flood the big, fancy bathroom! Oh no! Second mistake: water waaaaaaay too hot. So I carefully got in, bubbles sticking to my hair, and tried to relax. I did not sleep very well (too much Diet Coke and too many Sour Patch Kids at the movie) so the hot bath made me feel sick and nauseated and I had to don that fancy towel robe and lie on the bed a while to recover. So, as fun as it is to bathe in luxury, I liked coming home to toast and jam, cutting and pasting in my journal, and a good dig out in the garden. Now I am as grubby as can be and I really need a bath, but the shower sounds MUCH better after that scary, bubbly soak I had this morning.