Slippery When Wet
By Margie Keane
There are many things one shouldn’t do after a certain age but sadly we don’t find this out until after we do them. Take for instance the romantic getaway my husband arranged for us.
Our fortieth wedding anniversary was approaching and Tom came dashing into the house one day and announced “Sweetheart! I have a great idea for our anniversary! There’s a hotel on Pismo Beach and the honeymoon suite has a sunken tub, a fireplace and a balcony facing the ocean so we can watch the sunset and it’s only $400.00 including a four-course gourmet dinner.”
“Sounds wonderful” I said but we aren’t going on a honeymoon.”
He gave me his sexy smile and said, “It will be a second honeymoon. Come on, it will be fun! The tub is supposed to be very large so we’ll get some candles and bubble stuff, get naked and frolic amongst the bubbles.”
Okay, keep this picture in your mind. Tom is five foot ten and weighs in at 220. I, myself, am not a sylphlike creature, and he suggests we “frolic amongst the bubbles?” God bless this romantic.
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The hotel and the view from our balcony were both perfect. The sunken tub had a wide marble ledge surrounding it, and looked large enough for six people.
After a delicious dinner at the hotel we returned to our room and Tom suggested I shed my clothes while he prepared the tub. When I walked into the “frolicking room” there he was, submerged up to his chest, a lovely layer of bubbles floating around him. I eased myself down into the wonderful warmth on the opposite side of the pool and began to really appreciate his plan. I started imagining myself more as a “Meryl Streep” and less of a “Queen Latifa.” Amazing what a couple of martinis can do. I closed my eyes, and leaned back in the jasmine scented waters.
Totally immersed in this lovely, warm fog, I heard Tom’s voice calling me. I opened my eyes but I couldn’t see Tom. All I could see was a huge white cloud. Had I died and gone to Heaven? Wait! It wasn’t a cloud, I was staring at bubbles! I was surrounded by a wall of bubbles. Tom’s voice called to me from behind the wall. “It’s almost midnight. I’m pouring our champagne.”
“Great, more bubbles” I mowed my way through the soapy bubbles and together we toasted the New Year.
We frolicked till we got all pruney, and I suggested we get out. Tom was by the side of the tub so he scooted up and was soon seated on the ledge. I had been paddling around toward the middle of the tub. I moved toward the side but because of the curved wall I slid quickly back to the middle again. I tried again but once more slipped right back.
Trying to hide my frustration, I asked, “Darling, why is this tub so slippery?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because the bubble stuff I used was foaming bath oil? “Do you need some help?”
He was watching me, trying hard not to laugh, but I could see his belly twitching.
With menace in my voice I said, “Why don’t you just go into our room, sweetheart. I’ll call you if I need you.”
Have you ever watched a walrus try to clamber up onto a dock, miss, slip back into the water and roll around? Well, that was me – not a delightful little dolphin “frolicking amongst the bubbles,” but “Wilhelmina Walrus” thrashing and rolling, fighting my way to the rim of the tub. Very, very un-sexy! I finally managed to grab the ledge, haul myself up and slither over the side of the tub to safety.
So ladies, let me give you some advice: If your husband or lover suggests a romantic frolic amongst the bubbles, unless you are young and slim, oil does not belong in your sunken tub. Save it for your salad.