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Friday, 25 May 2012

All I want is ...

The problem begins with the fact that I have English genes, albeit bastardized genes these days, but at their root they're English, so I like to soak.  In a deep hot bath, that is.
The bastardized part comes from living my life in Uruguay and the US, where showers are king.  I like having showers, don’t get me wrong.  Showers in the morning, showers at noon, or before supper after a hard day’s work – yes, those showers are great.  But after supper?  No.  Now way.  Showers don’t cut it.
After supper it’s lights-out-candles-on and time for slipping into a piping hot pool of peace.  Alone.  Winding down to steam off the day’s layers of whatever.  Peace, perfect peace.
So, since we’re fixing up the little house we've just bought, I’ve been commissioned to find a tub for myself.  Simple. Home D should do the trick.  Ya think?
They have ankle warmers, kiddies’ paddle baths and their deepest “soaker” wouldn't even reach my bum.  OK, OK, I know I have a very large bum these days, I’m conscious of the problem there, but it wouldn’t cover your bum either!  Unless you were under ten.
So it’s off to the dreaded Lowes (or Low S as Carlos calls it).  Unhelpful as always, they direct me to a large counter where a 3-foot-long horizontal-pole-bound collection of wretched catalogues awaits me.   But after a while I find what I’m looking for!  Hooray!  Claw foot, 60 inches by 30 inches by (bliss) 22 inches depth.  I’m so thrilled I even forget my Low S grudge. 
Grinning from ear to ear I approach the salesman again, who’s still (s)talking to the saleswoman about their weekends.  I have to wait until they reach a point where I can politely interrupt. 
“The price is in the back of the catalogue,” he points to the place I’ve just come from.  They resume their conversation and I’m banished to the Low S library again.
Who cares?  I can do it without them; I enjoy self-checkout lines and self-serve gas pumps.  I get to the page and suddenly every ounce of Low S hatred returns.  It costs almost as much as my car! 
Stubborn though, I plow through three more tomes.  It’s impossible; they’re all just as useless as the Home D tubs.  Every page I flip tells a similar story and I get more and more frustrated.  Can’t one of them help me?
I turn to look at them, sniggering and chatting together, no, they're too busy, so I stalk off towards the exit.  Yeah I have a big bum, yeah I came in dressed in my shorts and flip flops, but I came in on a mission.  I came to spend money.  Obviously I wasn't the type of customer who'd be in a position to spend that kind of money (oh Richard Gere where are you?)  and they sussed me out.  They were right.
So I’m hunting online now.  Carlos is hunting online as well.  In fact, because he gets up earlier than I do, he’s probably hunted more that I have.  But there isn’t a single soaker, in my price range, to be found.  
Maybe I’ll get a kiddies’ blow up pool and put that in the bathroom instead.  I’ve been known to do silly things like that.

1 comment:

  1. I can relate, Cath. I love me a good soak with candles and such. We were blessed in that our double-wide master bathroom has a nice shower and a separate tub in which I can fit my very small bum (it's heredity). ;)


Unless otherwise noted, all articles are written by Cath Rathbone. (Copyright Catherine (Cath) Rathbone and Noony Brown)