I’ve been taking a lot of baths lately. Now, I can already guess what you’re thinking: “I thought ‘Mike’ was a guy’s name?”
Well, it is. But before you make any wild judgments about my masculinity — say, my abilities to watch football, grill and drink beer in garages — let me clarify. I’m not spending all this valuable time soaking in lukewarm water by choice. And I certainly don’t make an experience out of it — you know, with bubbles, rubber ducks and all that nonsense. I’d much rather take a shower.
About two weeks ago I came home from work to find about 30 ceramic tiles in my bathtub. Some caulking finally gave way and half my bathroom wall fell victim to gravity. The incident left three wooden, ramshackle studs exposed. I’m afraid to get those boards wet — the whole building could come down! — so I’ve been taking the safer, albeit “childish,” route.
Truth be told, I never really understood the bath stigma, and I’ve taken to defending bath benefits from several friends who complain, “Man, you take longer than a girl getting ready.”
“Maybe so,” I reply, “but I’m saving more water and getting other things done while I cleanse, like tax returns and phone conversations.”
Click.
Some people don’t like talking to bath-takers, especially those who are in the middle of the act. That’s not to say bathing occasionally is wrong. But every day? Now that’s infantile, even girlie. It’s as though I betrayed my gender or some ancient code of machismo. So, I was quite relieved when, after a week’s hesitation, my apartment managers sent someone to fix the wall. That was (I thought) a major turning point in my social life.
Except for the fact they didn’t fix it. Instead, they put industrial-strength trash bags over the hole and “caulked” them with duct tape. Nice work, fellas. A real bang-up job. I’d give you an “A” on the List, if you were true contractors and not just slumlords.
A note on the counter read, “will come back to replace tile ASAP.” Gee, thanks. I tried taking a shower with this new setup, only to find the duct tape acts like a drainage gutter, diverting a constant stream to my bathroom floor.
But I guess they solved one problem. After all, bathing with duct tape is pretty manly, right? I’ll just assume that was their intention all along.
Mike,
I think the solution to your problem is to wear your Indiana Jones fedora while taking a bath. All harmony to your machismo will be restored to its proper balance…(and you do know you’re basically wallowing in your own filth when taking a bath, right?)
And another thing: I think this post’s proper title is “Atlanta Mike and the Bathroom of Doom.” OK, I’m done now.
“Georgia Mike and the Kingdom of the Cracked Ceramic”