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.
