The new place, there are many things to love about it. It is far from ideal, lacking a house, a garden, all set in a nice chunk of land. For now, those things can wait. I settled, for a place that comforts my son.
Perhaps one of the biggest (or smallest, depending on perspective) compromises was finding a place with a claw foot bath.
Once upon a magical time, I had one. So many nights I would hog the bathroom, housemates be damned, and lay smitten in that tub. When it got cold, I would merely lift a pickled looking foot up, kick the hot water tap back on, wait a few minutes, kick it back off, and more often than not ... simply fall asleep.
This bath... well. I can lay back, and if I keep my legs entirely out of the water I can submerge most of my torso (my boobs stick out, which is cold and unpleasant). If I lay on my side, the water only covers half of me, a line of water right down the middle of my body, half warm and half cold. Because I have curvy hips it makes for a lovely silhouette but not remotely practical. If anything, I often picture tiny humans in wet suits gathering around me with hoses and shovels, spraying water on me while attempting to dig the sand out from beneath me so that I may freely swim back out to sea.
The most comfortable position is one that aggravates my shoulders and neck if I'm not careful, but at least far more of me can be in the tub at once. Except, as I recently tried to explain to a friend, my bodacious butt does not remotely fit under the level of the water. It does make for a funny shot, though. Like wearing chaps made of water, and nothing else.
Perhaps one of the biggest (or smallest, depending on perspective) compromises was finding a place with a claw foot bath.
Once upon a magical time, I had one. So many nights I would hog the bathroom, housemates be damned, and lay smitten in that tub. When it got cold, I would merely lift a pickled looking foot up, kick the hot water tap back on, wait a few minutes, kick it back off, and more often than not ... simply fall asleep.
This bath... well. I can lay back, and if I keep my legs entirely out of the water I can submerge most of my torso (my boobs stick out, which is cold and unpleasant). If I lay on my side, the water only covers half of me, a line of water right down the middle of my body, half warm and half cold. Because I have curvy hips it makes for a lovely silhouette but not remotely practical. If anything, I often picture tiny humans in wet suits gathering around me with hoses and shovels, spraying water on me while attempting to dig the sand out from beneath me so that I may freely swim back out to sea.
The most comfortable position is one that aggravates my shoulders and neck if I'm not careful, but at least far more of me can be in the tub at once. Except, as I recently tried to explain to a friend, my bodacious butt does not remotely fit under the level of the water. It does make for a funny shot, though. Like wearing chaps made of water, and nothing else.
Posts
1 comment:
Water chaps. Brilliant, you.
Post a Comment