When Taking a Bath Becomes a Tale of Horror

I pay far too much attention to bathtubs.

I’ve always been that way. I remember as a toddler imagining that the chrome plate with its two screws holding it to the side of the tub was a face, and the screws were eyes, and the lever which controlled the drain stopper was a nose.  It was my own private Pinocchio, and I was oh so gentle when tweaking that lever up or down, lest I injure my friend.

There came a time when I wished I hadn’t imagined the chrome circle as a face, because, it became awkward to have it staring at me while I was naked and going on about my business.  In those moments, it was convenient to hang a washcloth on that nose and cover its eyes.
As time passed, and my contemporaries moved onto taking showers, I remained, in large part, fond of a good cleansing soak.

People speculated that my reluctance to shower was brought on by a perfect storm of seeing “Psycho” and reading Stephen King’s “It” soon after learning about the sewer-dwelling necromancer that reanimates pets buried via the toilet. That necromancer, with his army of goldfish, crocodiles and hamsters, liked to invade households through the plumbing and torture them with the corpses of their former pets.

I will neither confirm nor deny this theory, except to say that I have never actually read Stephen King’s “It,” and didn’t see “Psycho” until I was out of college.  Necromanced hamsters, on the other hand, could possibly be a contributing factor in my ongoing preference for avoiding the shower.

It’s not like I never take a shower. If that were true, I’d have graduated college with a fine crop of radishes cultivated in the thick layer of top soil on my skin.

But, back to the bathtub.

This week inspired a whole new crop of thoughts about bathtubs, as I got acquainted with a whole new tub in my mother’s apartment.This tub is oval-shaped and wider than the typical bath, which I suspect is handy for recreating that one scene in “Pretty Woman,” not that I anticipate that will be happening anytime soon.  A basin built for two but only being used by one was not the most cheerful thought.

The more awkward discovery was yet to come. I soon realized the placement of the chrome plate, which has but two screws and no lever for a nose, is in quite an unfortunate spot.  That was the moment I noticed it reflected my underthings right back to me.

I admit that I don’t particularly want that view while I’m relaxing. And while I’ve not seen much of that region since I added a sub-basement, I am not interested in getting reacquainted.

With no handy hook to hang a rag, well, other methods for blocking those prying eyes had to be arranged.

But that’s another story. Which I will not be sharing.

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