Every so often, we invite someone new to the dinner table that ups my nervous level. I start worrying about what we’re serving and whether the wine will be impressive enough. Does the house look chic enough? And–oh god–the yard is a mess and it’s too late to call the lawn service guys! (Not that we know any lawn service guys..)
When it all becomes too much, I go to my safe place: the bathtub.
Some hide under the covers; I prefer sinking under the water. It is inside this clawfoot vessel that I gather my thoughts, solve insurmountable problems (like the dinner menu) and catch up on surmountable ones (Facebook, Instagram) on the ipad. Only inside the tub do I remember to take healthy deep breaths and scrub my arms. It is inside the tub where most masks–face and hair–are applied and left on for the adequate amount of time.
I don’t just take a bath when I’m stressed. The bath seems to be my de facto go-to place. It can be late morning, or early afternoon and if I find myself trying to write a blog post or too lazy to attack an attic cleanup, I consider a bath. Is that weird? I don’t care. I may walk everywhere, but the multiple daily baths have kissed my low carbon footprint good-bye.
Upon entering our bright upstairs bathroom, one can’t help but notice the merch. Because of my day job, every bath and body product is sent to me to test. And test, I do. The products that line the tub, and its connecting windowsill have each earned their spot. It is precious real estate. Every cleanser, scrub, shampoo and salt has undergone multiple uses, with mentally collected data. Love or hate? It’s decided quickly. Smell like a grandma? You’re out. Difficult to rinse off? See ya. Matte up my hair? You’re lucky if I bring you to the giveaway at the dump (more on that place later…).
This Saturday is National Bath Day. So, while Bertrand furiously chops the kale and monitors the beef tips, I’ll be busy supporting the holiday.
So grab a towel, and spread the word.