When You're Not Home I Use Your Bathtub

I have to start this post by reminding you all that I live a very neo-gypsy kind of life. I wrote about it awhile ago in Living Like a Gypsy. I think it is safe for me to consider myself a Gypsy of the Twenty-First Century, if you will. I have a number of places that I call home. This does not mean that I am a hopeless wanderer by any stretch. I have a mailing address and am a functioning member of society. However, neither does it mean that I will be featured on that Big Fat Wedding Show, or that I am buying children for gold coins. Likewise, I do not gaze longingly into crystal balls to tell your future, nor will I place a curse on your arch enemy. Though I do believe in the Evil Eye. What it does mean: I have a number of places that I can leave my stuff, because I know that it will be there when I come back. I have a network of people that let me hang on their couches, in their spare rooms, and they even often give me opportunities to house sit. Let me tell, you when you are always in the house with people (which ever hideout, BatCave, or bomb shelter you have been in recently) you are most willing to take the chance at a weekend or a night or a couple hours alone.

Now, I know that some of you are thinking that is a party opportunity or a chance to hold up for a few days with your significant other, but the most beautiful part of this is the by myself part. There is a reason that I have been known to cancel plans and rearrange an entire week's events to jump at the opportunity to house sit...and it has very little to do with sitting on the couch Al Bundy style with my hand in my pants watching TV.* I have even snuck into my most loving and amazing cousin's house and gone on a cleaning rampage while she and her family were on vacation for the opportunity to shamelessly take advantage of her house. For me the greatest gift given to me by the people that allow me to veg in their house, eat their food, and spoil their animals is found in the bathroom. No, it is not found in the medicine cabinet. It is the bathtub. I have been surrounded by people that have large (often self-bubbling) bathtubs, and it is to all of you that I take my hat off, get down on one knee, and say thank you.
I am a giant fan of taking a bath, and when you are staying with people someone is always in need of the bathroom or shower so you just never get the time to really take a bath. When I have bathtub carte blanche it consists of me, bubbles, tunes, beer, and no fucks. I can stay in the tub for hours. Doesn't the water get cold? Not if you let half of it out after the first hour and refill it with more hot water. Amateur. And no (to those of you wondering), I am not above floating a rubber ducky in there if your kid has left it on the edge of the tub. Ducks are meant to be in the water. I am really doing your yellow, plastic friend a favor. On a similar note, while I bring all of my own shampoo, luffas, body wash, razors, and other bath time accoutrements to this bath-time fiesta (when it is an expected perk of the visit I am making) I will most defiantly use your bath potions. Because bringing my own would just be nonsensical. So yes, your bubble bath is less full than you had originally intended.
Being the tub-time ninja that I am, you might not always know at first glance that there has been a bath taken. For example (if you were to monitor my appearance), my hair might not be wet, and I am likely to be in the same super-hero pajama pants and band t-shirt in which you have last saw me. You might wonder if you left your shampoo on the top shelf. You might wonder where that extra towel came from when you do laundry. You may even get pissed at your dog as you wonder how they got

the rug wet, because you are convinced that they must be responsible. After all, who would just sneak into your bathroom and get water all over the rug. Just let me tell you, if you have left me in your house for more than an hour while you were gone and you have clean towels, I have been in your bathtub. No, I do not feel guilty about it. The kind of peacefulness that is accomplished when a good bath has been had just does not warrant the negativity that would allow me to feel guilty about this. It is kind of like the babysitter that racks up a giant long-distance bill courtesy of your dime, they don't feel bad about it either.If you have ever said the words "make yourself at home" you have set yourself up for someone doing just that.
So there you have it, that is my dirty little secret that isn't so dirty after all. I am a bathtub junkie. I am likely to develop a close personal relationship with your bathtub. Chances are if you are an asshole but you have a jet tub I will remain a person in your life in hopes of spending time with your bathroom fixtures (and I don't mean the shower head). I will take my hair down, turn on the hot water, sing at the top of my lungs, and unfold my fins like Daryl Hannah in Splash whenever I get a chance. However be it known, if I have used your tub I have redeemed myself by yelling at your kids, sneaking people food to your dog, giving catnip to your cat, drinking your beer, and changing the channel on your TV when you go to the bathroom. It is also likely that I will do your dishes, because you have to pay the rent. Even when you are just renting a moment of relaxation suspended in hot bubbly water.

What's a blog post about bathtubs without 

The Rubber Ducky Song

*Although, it should be known by all those that have left in the care of their homes, I have not neglected your high-speed internet, microwave, or Netflix account while you are gone. I like to give all of my vises equal play time.