It was one of those days. No big drama, just little thing after little thing after little thing that prevented me from getting to the things I really wanted to do. Two o'clock rolled around and I hadn't found my way to the shower yet. I was beat, but when I tried to take a little catnap, I couldn't turn my mind off. Like I said - no big thing - lots of little things - life.
I needed that shower - it couldn't be put off any longer.
I needed a bath.
Maybe I'd have a glass of wine after my bath.
DURING my bath.
I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it before. Wine is relaxing. A warm bath is relaxing. Put them together and it's - well, it's a little bit of decadence is what it is. I poured myself a glass and headed up the stairs to start the water.
I needed bubbles.
I was going this far, there was no point in half-assing it now. Darn. No bubble bath. Shampoo then. I poured a capful into the tub and the resulting suds were luxurious. Decadence on a budget. I placed my glass on the edge of the tub and made sure my towel was within reach. Wet hands on glass would not be a good idea. I stepped into the warm bubbles, took a long sip, and relaxed into the tub.
Calgon (ok, Suave...) take me away.
I closed my eyes, but instead of picturing myself falling into a field of wild flowers, or whatever womanly vision the old Calgon ads portrayed, I remembered a bath from years ago.
I was twenty. I was in Paris. I had a room with a claw foot tub in a bathroom with a balcony that overlooked the Paris Opera House. I don't remember what floor I was on, but it was high enough that I felt comfortable opening the doors (the french doors...) to the balcony while I bathed. I filled the tub with bubbles (french bubbles...) and decided the only thing the picture needed to be complete was wine (french wine, of course). I wrapped myself in a towel (french terry cloth, no doubt) and made my way to the honor bar. I read the price list, dismayed. This was shaping up to be a cool moment and all, but holy moley. I pushed the wine aside and grabbed the only thing in the honor bar that was in my price range - a Diet Coke. Ok, there was Evian, too. But it was Paris. Coke was imported. There was Evian everywhere. They pumped Evian through the bidets, for Pete's sake. (Ok, that part is a lie. Or maybe wishful thinking. Can you imagine? All that effervescence.....)
I seem to have digressed.
I opened the Diet Coke. I poured it into a wine glass. The aesthetic could still be there, even if the fruit of the vine could not. I stepped into the tub - the bubbles - and gazed out over the city. A light rain began to fall. Nothing that would warrant a mad dash to close the balcony doors, just a gentle drizzle.
It was divine.
I thought of that bath as I let the bubbles and the wine do their job while my kids did their homework and my house remained uncleaned.
Calgon, take me away.
"Remember that nap you tried to take earlier?" the wine whispered to me. "You might want to take another go at that when you get out of the tub, Gorgeous." Wine always calls me Gorgeous. Vodka calls me Sexy and gin calls me DangerBroad. Rum calls me Baby - BabyDoll with the right mixer. Coffee calls me Hun or Pumpkin. Champagne calls me Dahling. Tequila just calls me Woman. I think that might be because it's heard me roar. Whiskey doesn't call me much anymore. That's probably for the best.
But today was wine.
Just one glass - not enough to do much more than smooth off the rough edges. It didn't take me to a field of wildflowers (maybe that's because I used the Suave instead of the Calgon), but I didn't feel like I was tiptoeing through a minefield anymore. And wine was right. About the nap, not necessarily about the gorgeous.
Just a little nap.
Hey, world. You look nice. Are you doing something different with your hair?
Wine in the tub. With bubbles. I can't recommend it highly enough.