Hot bath, cold tea

As I reentered the bathroom, the phone rang. Damn! I had forgotten to turn of the speaker. I wouldn't be able to get there before the beep to silence it, and I certainly was in no mood to answer. I gave the door a good slam, dropped my robe to the floor and stepped to the tub but left the water running to drown out any message interference.

Turning to step into the steaming water, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I generally tried to avoid this, but I'd been careless. I was surprised, in fact, by how different I looked since the last time I'd caught a glimpse of my figure. I had never been slim. I'd been too muscular to be slim. But I'd never really looked 'athletic' either. Too rubenesque really. Normally this was not something I admired, but curves were suddenly back in vogue and I had them in droves. My recent adventures in yoga were apparently paying off too. I stepped my other foot into the 'hotter than medically recommended' water and caught sight of what my mother would call my 'derriere'. The amazing thing was that I had one. Well, at least one worth noticing. Guess all those horrid squats were paying off. I sank my recently lifted 'derriere' into the billowing bubbles and placed my tea and chocolate within easy reach.

The water washed over me, the warm citrus and mint bubbles tickling my chin. Too much water to be good for anything, but the environment be damned. I needed a good soak and that can't happen in 3 inches of water. I always found baths therapeutic. Like baptism for dummies. Soak a bit and emerge a new woman. The water cleansing me of all... but my worries. How could I possibly go back to work? Where could I find another job? How could I avoid my mother's inevitable prying questions? Why on earth did I ever fall for Richard? How could I have done that to his wife? He never claimed he was single. I just chose to ignore the picture on the bookshelf. But how could he have done that to her? Surely she didn't deserve such cruelty. Even more puzzling: what possessed her to take him back?

While I remembered Richard once seeming charming, handsome, even sexy, all I could see now was that stupid grin of his. When I first met him I thought the grin was odd, then I found it endearing as we shared secret jokes at work. Now it was just creepy. Like the Grinch when he lies to Cindy Lou, only Richard uses Whitestrips. I bet he practises that grin and imagines the little sparkle they use in cheesy toothpaste ads. Ugh. It made my skin crawl just thinking about it.

I submerged myself under the bubble layers to wash away my thoughts and resurfaced soapy-wet, but refreshed. I lay back against my fuzzy bath pillow and closed my eyes. I needed to refocus, so I'd try practising my yogic breathing. Slowly I deepened my breath, expanding my belly with each inhalation, listening only to the sound it made in my throat. I visualized the stress leaving my body with each exhalation, parting the sea of bubbles and breaking free. After a few minutes of internal warmth gradually spreading through my body, I felt the release I was longing. A wave of relaxation washed through me and all my muscles finally gave into the impulse to do nothing. I started to sink deeper into the water and briefly considered pressing my feet into the end of the tub to delay my descent, but wanted to relish the absolute freedom of floating instead. Soon enough, I stopped sinking and began to float, washed by the ripples caused by my own breath. I closed my eyes for a moment felt completely at peace, but I knew I couldn't stay in the tub forever. I wriggled my fingers and toes, trying to gain some momentum for movement, but instead became distracted by the texture of my wrinkled digits. Trying once again to reenter reality, I gently pushed my feet against the end of the tub and raised my head out of the water. The air on my head felt cool, but not cold. I took stock of the situation. The bathwater was only lukewarm, my tea had stopped steaming, and my chocolate sat unopened on the side of the tub. Mission accomplished: stress and calories both at zero. So I slowly pulled myself from the dying bubbles and decided to reward my self-control by eating the chocolate anyway. Rule number four: once out of the cupboard, chocolate may not be returned.