Bad news at bath time

Sarah Westwood laments lesbian bath death




I fear the idea of the perfect shared bath-time may have finally disappeared down the proverbial plug-hole. 


In the beginning, my girlfriend and I shared regular baths together. It was exactly how I'd imagined lesbian life would be; one big, soapy, soppy, sud-fest. We'd spend many happy hours in the bath, candles all around, sipping wine, like something out of a Channel 5 movie. In our shallow little tub we'd indulge long 'deep' chats, and I remember thinking, "This is it, this is what it's all about".


But as the years went by, shared baths happened with less regularity. When they did occur, old irritations began to take the shine out of the experience, like caustic soda on chrome fixtures. We'd bicker over who got the taps. Should it the first one in, or was comfort the right of the 'runner' and instigator of the bath? We discovered that we were temperature incompatible; my girlfriend seemed to have developed 'asbestos skin' and now insisted on having the water so hot it made lesbian soup.


Then we got our cat. The only cat in the world who prefers to come inside to use the 'bathroom' litter box. I'm not sure what it is about the sound of running taps, but it's like a double espresso on her digestive system. Once I'm fully submerged she high tails it in to 'relieve herself', with me stuck in the bath and helpless to stop her. I swear the Jo Malone Wild Fig & Cassis scented candle sees her coming and just capitulates. I've tried locking her out. But it's not particularly relaxing having a soak, while a cat propelled by an imminent bowel evacuation scratches desperately at the door.


Then, just when I'm getting used to the idea of floating solo, my girlfriend surprises me by climbing in the tub. Maybe I was wrong and we can still enjoy a steamy sapphic soak after all. I reach behind me to grab a tea-light when she says, "We need to get that ceiling leak fixed". What? "And that tile is loose, and while we're at it, we should really get this window seen to". We're not having fun times in the bath, we're conducting a wet inventory. Talk about bad news at bath time. Then I hear the door creak. It's the cat. Right on time. 



Only reading DIVA online? You're missing out. For more news, reviews and commentary, check out the latest issue. It's pretty badass, if we do say so ourselves. //


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