Along the Trail: Bath
It was one of those “you had to be there” moments. It may not have bordered on the unbelievable, but still, it defied logic, or at least common sense.
It has been a remarkable fall with warm, sunny days, but there is still an unmistakable nip in the air some days. I had been out rooting in the yard, getting our property ready for winter. Combine that with a lingering cold, and I was chilled to the bone.
After doing my yard chores, I decided a bath might just be the ticket. I am not big on baths, preferring showers instead, but a slow, warm, lingering bath looked like just the thing needed to combat the sore bones and stuffed up head. So, with great anticipation, I drew a warm, sudsy, comfy bath and slid in for what should have been a pleasant experience. Except it wasn’t.
As I bobbed in the tub, I reached for the shampoo to give my few remaining follicles a scrub and do it before the water got too soapy. I rubbed the shampoo in my hair and gave everything a good going over. Needless to say, it is not a time-consuming exercise anymore, but I do it anyway.
Mission accomplished, I slid under the water to rinse the hair. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Just as I disappeared under the water, I felt a sharp, strong blow to my face. My lip began to bleed and I felt I had just been hit by the old Mike Tyson. How do you injure yourself taking a bath? It hurt and blood was now staining the former clean bath water. I was stunned and could not figure out what had happened. Nothing made sense, even in my mad cap world.
It was then that I noticed the bright green top of the shampoo bottle peeking out from under the soapy water. It appears I had not properly replaced the offending object and it had slid off the high shelf and careened down, striking me on my now fat lower lip. I hadn’t had this fat a lip since I had gone a few rounds with my next door neighbour when I lived in North Sydney. I can still remember him walking up the street with a mean looking dude and when I challenged him (him being the key), he asked “which one?”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” I bravely answered. As it turned out, it did matter. A lot, actually.
It happened the second dude was recently released from Dorchester and was harder than a fire hydrant. I went down for the count and learned more than one lesson in this encounter, the least of which was to pick on someone your own size. When challenged “which one”, make sure you pick the right guy.
Well the bath ended up nearly as badly. I got a fat, puffy lip which stung like heck when the soap hit it. Any semblance of pleasure had been erased forever.
I’m back in the shower now, reasoning that I have less chance of hurting myself. Even with an occasional wayward bar of soap underfoot, they are still better odds than a bath. And no chance of a fat lip.