So, it turns out, there is going to be a new normal now for bath times. Way down below is my usual bath time experience. I wrote this about the old normal back in December. I decided it was time for the biannual event to take place yesterday. And I hit new lows.

July 2020.

I had a bath.

1. Unbeknown to me, after making the public service announcement that I was going in the bath, some little 💩 sneaked in while the clear lava was flowing from the taps and had a massive 💩. Unfortunately the foul smell chose to hang around for a while.

2. Once the bath was run, I suddenly remembered I would treat myself to some face masks. Green to cleanse the impurities from the 16 week crisp-based diet and yellow to tighten the turkey neck from looking at an iPad screen for the last four months. Unfortunately, applying what seemed like carpenters’ putty took longer than I thought and the bath water was distinctly lukewarm when I returned.

3. I thought I’d been organised, fetching in my new luxury shampoo which would restore my hair to the shiny, full curls of my teenage years. I tried to read the instructions without glasses which was as stupid as announcing I was having a bath to a child with a full rectum. The glasses were no good, as thanks to adding more lava, the arsehole act of condensation meant I couldn’t see a thing. So the miracle hair product was slapped on, swirled around then swished off in 60 seconds flat.

4. I thought I’d been organised fetching a razor. I tried to ignore the blatant patches of rust. It would be fine. I stopped saying it would be fine when rivers of blood entered the water, so it now did actually ressemble actual lava.

5. I thought I was organised and had placed my favourite body wash at the foot of the bath. I hadn’t. If I’d worn my glasses, I would have seen it was Sparkling Unicorn body wash. So I shimmered like a mythical creature which had been attacked by glitter.

If only Corona had cancelled baths this year too!

December 2019

I had a bath. This warranted a public service announcement in our house.

“I’M GOING IN THE BATH!!”

The children were actually alive in their bedrooms and mumbled some reply.

“So for the next hour, I will be unavailable to heat microwaveable meals, deal with small scale injuries or attend any bar mitzvahs.”

Radio silence.

“And I will not be available for in-depth discussions about what you should do with the rest of your lives or whether you should have taken French instead of German (because the answer to that is fecking obvious Joel! 😡)

I think they were still in the building.

“And should the once in a lifetime event occur when you all need the toilet at the same time, remember there are two other toilets! So one of you will just have to go in the garden and we’ll just blame Frankie. Ok? Hello?……”

I always have high expectations of a bath. I imagine I’ll be transported to a faraway land where husbands and children don’t exist. Angels will descend from heaven and massage my scalp until I’m in a semi-comatose state. The gentle bubbles made by Tesco’s cheapest bath soak will miraculously soothe my soul and I’ll come out refreshed, looking ten years younger.

But baths are always an anti-climax.

Firstly, I make them too hot. After scalding my foot, I have to wait another ten minutes before I can attempt re-entry, running cold water to lessen the lava-like temperature, destroying my magical bubbles in the process. Re-entering the bath just isn’t the same but I still have high hopes of a flotation tank experience, all my problems and troubles dissipating silently from my body.

But then I spot a fingerprint on the mirror. Or piss up the wall. When was the last time I cleaned the grout? All tension which had fleetingly left my tired body returns just as quickly. I really shouldn’t have made the mistake of opening my eyes. I can’t relax for all the mildew and mould mocking me. Spending time in the bathroom has actually created work and increased stress!

And finally, there’s little people.

Five minutes later, opposition forces attempt to enter the bathroom.

“The door’s locked.”

“Why?”

“I’m in the bath. I told you!”

“Why?”

“Because I fancied one.”

“When was the last time you had a wash?”

My turn to deliver radio silence.

“Where’s dad?”

Not here, answering these inane questions and defending the enemy line. 😡

“He’s at work.”

“What’s for tea?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“When will you?”

“When I get out of the bath.”

“When’s that?”

Longest sigh ever recorded.

“Now. I’m getting out NOW!”

If there was a world record for the shortest bath, I’d be in the Guinness book. Longer than I was in the bloody bath!