Some days are very stressful.
Like, so stressful you could just KILL that dog that keeps escaping from its yard and tackling you into the freezing pool because the darned thing loves you so much. Now, I'm going to give you a tiny bit of advice here; if you ever find yourself in this compromising situation, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT hit that dog with a linoleum floor tile. It WILL NOT enjoy that, and I don't know about you, but my neighbor's rotweiler is quite defensive when hit with floors . . . and other things . . . and also when you lick its tail . . . but that's a whole other story that I really don't want to talk about.
There's nothing that soothes a stressful day of dog licking, lemon shoving, or forcing people to eat your dirty socks like a nice, relaxing soak in a whirlpool bubble bath, is there? Especially if the whirlpool bubble bath is new and unused and just plain amazing.
So, after a long stressful day of shouting, "HE'S THRIFTY ALL RIGHT!" Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over . . .
You can only imagine how excited I was to hop into the pool of hot relaxation. Yelling random lines in the middle of a song is QUITE stressful, especially when your music teacher smells like weird perfumes and insists you be LOUDER even though you are NOT happy about playing a male ballet dancer and would do anything but showcase the fact you can pass for a male with large amounts of makeup.
So as I walked into the newly finished bathroom that may or may not be lacking a vanity , still but who cares really if there is a whirlpool involved, is what I'm wondering.
You can only imagine how inviting the shiny white marble looked under the moonlight. Well, it wasn't under the moonlight exactly, because who really wants to bathe in the outdoors where neighbors could possibly see with their super spy cams and record you and later post it on the internet but it was a rather DIM light that could possibly pass for moonlight, sans the weird neighbors with spy cams and night vision goggles.
I took a large, gasping breath, and yanked that handle as hard as I could to unleash the wrath of the pipes pushing hot water into the tub of joy full blast. I waited impatiently, like a monkey waiting for his whack at a banana, or maybe a small child wanting to swing heavy bats at innocent pi?atas. I know I used to get excited beating pinatas, at least. Once I even threw the bat across the laundry room on accident because I simply could not hold in my joy any longer. I just grabbed the thing and shrieked and threw it because there was simply no other way to express my feelings towards the object filled with candy hanging from the ceiling. THIS is what waiting for the depression in my bathroom floor to fill up felt like. I simply could not hold onto my bat any longer (metaphorically speaking), so I seized the bottle of bubble bath and poured a free amount of the sweet substance into the mixture of hot swirls.
It started out innocently enough. A few drops of bubble bath. But a few innocent drops soon turned to a half empty bottle and a raging bath, so I pushed the handle in when I decided that I had enough bubbles.
NOW. It. Was. Time. To BEAT THAT PINATA!
So I struck the big white button that turned on the jets, and soon the bathroom was pulsing with the excitement and joy the jets had released! Or so I thought . . .
Soon enough, the jets had pulsed for long enough and the bubbles were on a RAMPAGE.
We're talking, the bubbles were OVER the edge of the tub. This doesn't seem quite so compromising, but see the bubbles were so high that I couldn't tell where the switch to turn off the jets was.
Dangit.
I was in for it.
I scrounged the side of the tub, trying to feel for that tiny button of plastic that might help me not die. I scrounged and scrounged, and with no luck and constantly growing bubbles, had to find an alternate plan.
Now, it's not easy to stop a rapidly bubbling tub when you can't turn off the jets! So I did the only thing I could. I screamed.
Sounds like a great plan, right? Well . . . turns out bubbles kind of don't taste fun, so when I opened my mouth to perform this action, it was soon filled with bubbly sourness. Yes, at this point the bubbles were over my head, taking up all oxygen, and blocking all airways as well. Oh and eyes.
So, I was forced to stand in the middle of a bathroom with bubbles foaming up around me, my eyes shut, not knowing where the heck I am, unable to scream, on a slippery floor trying to find some way to get out . . . all because I put too much bubble bath in a tub.
At this point my life flashed before my eyes.
OH EM GEE!
I realized. I COULD DIE HERE. I crumpled to the floor, the only safe place when you are as klutzy as me, and tried to feel for the toilet with my fingers. I don't understand how the toilet would help me, but it's the first thing that ran through my odd and wacked out mind. I submerged myself further into the growing space of bubbles with every step, not knowing which way was out of this foaming vat of evil. This was just like that one scene in Cinderella, when the clock strikes 12 and she turns into a pumpkin or something. I don't really know the whole story because I was kind of busy picking scabs and (LEGALLY) birthing snakes at the time when it was on. Don't ask. I live an interesting and odd life.
Then I thought . . .
What a stupid way to die.
I had been completely stupid up to this point, I mean, come on . . . why don't I just feel for the doorknob?
So I felt around, and soon enough connected with the plastic handle of the cupboard. I opened the tank of savingness, and quickly grabbed a towel and began swatting at the bubbles. Maybe If I trapped all the bubbles in my towel, they would stop clogging my senses!
At that exact moment, something more intense than the most intense of staple fights happened.
The bubbling stopped.
I glanced up at the doorway and tried to get a grip on what was happening. THE LIGHT! I SAW THE LIGHT! At this point, I realized that I had nothing to lose, so I opened my mouth and immediately let out the loudest scream I could muster, with turned out to be a little squeak. Well . . . this was it. I was finished, done for, obliviated in a mass of bubbles . . .
"Joa . . . what the heck?" I heard a murmur from beyond the bountiful amount of bubbling fun . . . turned lethal.
"TAKE ME NOW!" I tried to scream, but with the bubbles fizzling into my throat, it sounded more like "FAKE MOO COW!"
"Umm." It was at this point that I took the advantage of opening one eye against the wall of air pockets.
"Oh," is all I could say to the sight that I saw..
My sister was standing in the doorway, perfectly free of bublicular assault, and staring at me like I was the weirdest creature ever to grace this house. Which I'm not, believe me. That kinkajou was an awkward thing.
"Why the heck didn't you just reach for the door?"
That question left me speechless . . . Why DIDN'T I reach for the door?
"And turn the jets off with the emergency switch."
So to that interesting little tiddle, I will say . . . when they say put in a "small amount" they AREN'T JOKING. You WILL end up facing your death in a new bathroom, unless you're smart enough to reach for the door.
Now where the heck am I supposed to sponge bath myself and others? Dangit . . . I can't even go back in that room without being scarred.
