Every time I get in the tub I wonder what Oprah's bathtub looks like.
You see, part of the fantasy of living the dream™ (the dream that I'm perpetually acting out) includes bubble baths. Every night. Pop culture and romantic comedies have been telling me for almost 30 years that this is the quintessential way to relax after a long and stressful day.
But for me - nothing is more humbling than taking a bath. My tub is over 80 years old and collecting rust in multiple places. I get about 3 inches of warm water before the tap turns ice cold. I can't manage thumbing through a book or magazine without getting the pages all wet. And I've discovered that Dr. Bronner's soap doesn't really make bubbles - instead it makes my bath water look like skim milk. The lights are a little too bright and I get bored a little too quickly. I start to get grossed out by the actual concept of a bath before I can ever really enjoy it. Meanwhile, Mr. Scooty Boots is sticking his grubby paws in the water and unabashedly staring at my hoo-ha.
I know I've gotta be doing it all wrong. So as I sit, defeated and grossed out, 3 inches deep in luke-warm water, I always think of Oprah. I try to imagine what her bathtub is like. Polished marble, fancy mini-soaps, candle light and warm towels is what comes to mind. And I bet her cat - a fancy Bengal, of course - sits perched on the edge of the tub - politely diverting his eyes from her nether areas.
One day I'm going to master the art of taking a bath. But I think for now I'll stick to the shower.