Bath time is sacred. It's one of the few times in my life I can just chill, surrounded by warm water and soapy things and bubbles. It's been one of my favourite things since I can remember, and retreating into warm, chest deep water with a book and a beverage and an hour or two is my kind of heaven.
It is not the place I expect to be assaulted by my own bath mat.
One of the first things we discovered when we moved into this flat is that the bathtub is slippery as hell. Getting in and out of it for the first couple of days was the equivalent of strapping bacon rashers to your feet and trying to stroll out over a frying pan; somebody was going to get hurt.
So we toddled across the road to the little corner shop, which sells everything from carpet shampoo to little wire baskets, and got a bath mat. It's cute. It has little dolphins on it, and three shades of blue, and a whole bunch of suckers, to stick to the bottom of the bath.
Tonight's bath was no different to start with; I spent a happy forty minutes or so splashing around, giggling quietly over the story idea that hit me earlier tonight. The usual. Then I pulled the plug as the water was cooling rapidly, and stood up.
The bath mat came with me.
Remember those suckers? Those multiple, strategically placed, ultra-suction cups that are intended to stop people like me cracking their skulls in their own tub? Turns out that when you don't check to make sure the bath mat is the right way around, and spend nearly an hour sitting on the damn things, they attach just as efficiently to the human body.
It also turns out that because of the way I'd managed to get the bloody thing stuck to me (there are parts of my anatomy that were never intended to have suction applied, dear readers. Tonight I found them all), I'd no sooner get one part loose than the next section would clamp down again. Standing in the bath means I have a great view of the vanity mirror. There is something incredibly disconcerting about watching yourself frantically shimmy around the bathroom with a dolphin stuck to your pertinent bits.
I finally got the wretched thing off by lining up with the edge of the sink stand, and rubbing against it like a small, grumpy, hairless bear trying to scratch an itch against a tree. It puddled around my ankles in a heap of blue plasticy dolphins, leaving my rear end looking like I'd been groped by a very enthusiastic and amorous octopus.
I took my red, throbbing behind to sulk in my room, and write my blog. I guarantee I'll check that mat tomorrow night, and at least for the foreseeable future.
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