Abort, Abort: There is no bathtub

I really like our house. Honest.

It has great hardwood floors and a new roof and a great backyard. We have neighbors who know our names and get our mail for us when we’re out of town. The rent is incredibly reasonable, and our landlords couldn’t be nicer people.


The owners were really proud to show off the nicely renovated (only) bathroom when we looked at the place. And I have to admit, when I’m feeling like our decorating style couldn’t be more college dorm room circa 1999, I like to just go sit in the bathroom and pretend like every room is as bright and new and shiny and grown up looking as it is. However, as part of the renovation, they removed the tub and installed a corner shower stall.

I told people my dilemma about the tublessness of the house. “Oh no,” they said. “What will become of Bug’s baths?” (Apparently my friends are from the 19th century.)

“Bug’s baths,” I cried hysterically. “What about my baths? I’ve got stress to relieve, time alone to be had, legs to be shaved!” At this point in the conversation, my friends pretended to get calls on their cell.

But here we are, more than a year later, and I have survived the no-bath situation fairly well (don’t worry, so has Bug – he has a little inflatable tub, although he’s about to outgrow it in about three minutes). My main concern was that I wouldn’t be able to get warm enough on cold winter days without my hot bath, but an electric blanket for Christmas and global warming came through on that one, and I survived.

So, until we move into a new house (you better believe a bathtub will be a deal breaker for any new house we consider moving to) please remember me and my tublessness. Please don’t look at my legs too closely (actually, i think it’s best for everyone involved if we just make that a permanent rule), and forgive me if I gripe and complain because I can’t get a good soak in.

It’s just that girl needs her bath, y’know?


Next time, on Abort, Abort: There is no dishwasher! One family’s struggle to find a clean spoon.


1 Anjie { 10.23.07 at 4:58 pm }

you are always welcome to ours…it’s crazy and just not right. i don’t use it b/c i feel guilty…but you’ve deserved it. bug could come and go swimming in it. i’ll even take him out to play and give you hours and hours alone with the tub and the ipod…just one more reason to make a visit. (as if i weren’t enough!)

2 Joe T. { 10.23.07 at 6:18 pm }

Well, the intensity of your missing this in your life may relate to your being a mom (and adult) with the need to relieve stress, shave legs, spend time alone, etc., but I suspect it is also genetic (or environmental?). You are, after all, your mom’s daughter. :)

3 Allen G. { 10.24.07 at 12:32 pm }

Not only can you come over and use my bathtub, but I had my apt professionally cleaned yesterday. AND Sara has Strawberry Shortcake bubble bath, AND I could give you a massage first, man it’s like CHristams in October. Seriously though I would be happy to do all of that. Anj and I were talking today about how we pace our days to get us to Bug’s naptime when we know we can check for you latest posting. I’m addicted. I owe you at least a massage.

4 racher { 10.24.07 at 1:39 pm }

Woman, don’t play. ‘Cause I will totally take you up on that offer.

5 alianora { 10.26.07 at 12:44 am }

Oh. A bath.

I vaguely remember these things. I had these neat things the smelled good that went FOOOOOOM when I dropped them in the water. I had candles.

Now? I have a 6 month old. Who just seems to KNOW when I even approach the bathroom, even when it seems as if he is dead asleep.

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