Selfcare Sunday Bathtime Fail

The name of this blog hasn't deceived you, the hugely ironic stock image goes here! 
Ever find yourself at 8.30pm on a Monday evening wondering what to do with yourself? No, this never happens to me either! I’m either breaking a light sweat thanks to ClassPass, engrossed in the latest Netflix series or out for dinner with friends. But, there I was on a Monday evening wondering just that. It’s 8.30pm; I’ve cooked dinner and tidied away (that bit usually gets forgotten), I’ve pulled an outfit for the next day and whilst someone hogs the TV for PlayStation time, I’m at a loss for a TV programme to entertain myself. Then I thought, what would I want to do with this free time if, like normal, I’m dashing about on a school night? That’s when I remembered a blog post I had written about switching off from work and there I wrote about the ol’ cliché of taking some ‘me-time’ and running a bath.

Now, I’ve only lived in our current apartment for six months, but it was previously inhabited by two twentysomething men and I don’t think they knew what a pair of Marigolds was between them. The thought of stewing in their dirty (and let’s face it, hairy) feet soup made my toes curl. One professional deep clean later, I am ready to do a Monica and get the bubbles, salts, candles and magazines at the ready. Oh heck, I may even pour myself a glass of wine. If I’m going to do this, I may as well do it properly! What ensues is approximately 20 minutes of bath-time prep and *spoiler alert* a less than successful bath-tub encounter. Here’s how the story unfolds…

Let’s start with the basics shall we? Take one bathtub, add a generous helping of a luxurious and gorgeous smelling bath milk/oil/bomb and surely the result is one of those perfectly Instagram-worthy bubble meets #bathcaddy moment? A dressing gown hanging from the hook ready to snuggle my very relaxed, warm, moisturised and delightfully smelling self post-heavenly bath. A now half-filled glass of wine.

But, no, a problem.

The hot tap isn’t hot. Unlike the shower above it, it’s chugging out lukewarm water that’s getting colder by the second. Cue an urgent dash for the kettle and a couple of journeys back and forth later to top it up with some boiling water. Meanwhile, the bubbles have gone... 


Flat. 

I’d wanted to try something new > enter: Kiehl’s Lavender Foaming-Relaxing Bath with Sea Salts and Aloe. "Formulated...for their soothing and relaxing properties"? Hell yes! In goes a third of the bottle. But…wait. Where are the bubbles? 'Foaming' the label said? I see no evidence of this. To be fair, this has probably been in my bathroom cupboard for over two years, moved back and forth to New York with me still unopened. Can bubble bath go off?! A bath without bubbles is just not on so I dash to my wardrobe full of beauty products and grab an equally questionably old Virgin Vie (remember them?) bubble bath and chug in another third of bottle. Bubbles? It looked like a toddler had attempted to use party bubbles for the first time and instead just slightly foamed at the mouth.

OK, let’s salvage this.

To set the relaxing scene, I opted for a couple of candles along the window-sill which was now closed to avoid the onslaught of goosebump-gate. Atmospheric. Shame about the overhead lights which were a necessity if I was to do some...

Light reading.

Hello Sunday Times Style Magazine perched on the side of the bath, on a stool, with a towel for the inevitable wet hands / soggy paper situation that would arise. I mean, can you tell how much effort went into this momentous free evening and treating myself to a bath? Not before:

Monday Masking.

Before I let the soaking in a nice, hot bath open my pores and make for a nice deep cleanse, I reach for a couple of masks to let my skin have a bit of a treat – it survived Monday after all! Enter ELEMIS Absolute Eye Mask and Liz Earle’s Intensive Nourishing Treatment Mask.

So, there we have it.

Two bath products smouldering away. A little steam rising from the two kettles-full of hot water that were poured in. My reading material and iPhone at the ready for entertainment. Face looking like Mrs Doubtfire post-pavlova. Flickering candles to create a calming atmosphere. I think I’m ready to get in.

Oh wait.

We have one bathroom, which means one toilet between two. A cursory shout out to the husband in the nearby living room, ‘Do you need a wee? Because I’m getting in the bath now and I don’t need that interrupting my calm scene!’ ‘Not right now…but leave the door open in case I do.’ That’s marriage for you. If a girl can’t cut a break and have a bath in silence then what is the world coming to?!

Alas.

I’m getting in.

Big toe first. I expect to gasp at how bloody hot it is. That’s normally how this plays out, isn’t it? After running it for so long, I should have to top it up with cold water until I can tolerate the temperature to place in my whole foot. Not this time. OK, this temperature feels good… maybe I’ve mastered the art of the perfect ‘getting in’ temperature.

Submerged.

Or…not quite. At least, top of legs, belly and boobs are definitely not in. Bone dry, in fact. Not even a generous amount of swooshing is going to get this water level working for me. Did the well of the bath rise two feet since I’ve been running the tap? Check the plug. Yep that’s secure. OK, more water needed.

Turns on hot tap.

Ah yes, slinks down to enjoy getting cosier by the moment as the hot water envelops around me.

Wait a minute.

That’s not hot. That’s bloody cold. FREEZING in fact! Panic and splashing to quickly get to the other end to switch off the tap. OK, maybe I need to give it a minute to refill the tank or something. Why don’t I just lie back and at least read Dolly Alderton’s latest column whilst I wait? It’s not so freezing I guess, I’ve got the candles burning, a few shy little bubbles floating about me, this can 
work.

Reach for magazine.

Sit back, resting against the back of the bath and…

WHOOSH.

Nearly slide under as my shoulders lose contact with the bathtub and I’m nearly dunked under by my own body weight. New low. I should have known it was a vain attempt to keep my newly-washed-this-morning hair dry. OK, I think my toes need to be pushing against the other end of the bath to prop myself up if I’m going to stay upright. Tricky for someone skirting around the 5ft 3in mark.


Ouch.

Toe cramp. 


I’m really not long enough for this bath. 

Time for a refill?

Still cold water.

OK, reach for my phone for some Instagram scrolling. Immediately dunk half my phone half under the water. Gah! Scrabble for nearby towel to dry off. Crisis averted, Instagram is still working people!

So, there I am, marinating in some bath product from the early Noughties, goosebumps most definitely appearing on my arms which are poised at right angles out of the water to keep me afloat, toes pinned to the edge of the tank, neck straining away from the water’s edge and exposed nipples that could, frankly, cut glass.

That’s it.

Abandon ship.

Man overboard.

Time for a hot shower. (And another glass of wine)


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1 comment

  1. Oh my goodness, no! Ahh it sounds like a nightmare, and your persevered for so long!
    I love a good bath, I'd be just about crying if I'd gone to that much effort. I have to admit, I have done the fill-it-with-a-kettle thing before.
    Cora | http://www.teapartyprincess.co.uk/

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