I hate baths.

I hate taking baths. I maybe take two baths a year...maybe. Both on the advice or insistence of a well-intentioned Seth, telling me that it will make me "relax" and "feel better".

Honestly, I don't know how sitting in ones own filth is relaxing. I mean, it's a production just to get to the bath-taking part of taking a bath. I have to scour the entire tub and rinse it all out, and clean the sink, toilet and counter, because if I don't, the whole time I'm supposed to be relaxing, I'm looking at (and obsessing over) a sink, toilet and counter that need to be scrubbed.

I'm not sure who started the rumor that a bath is relaxing. What benefit does a hysterical, naked woman receive from sloshing around in hot, soapy water? When I am all stressed out, and my sweet husband has tried everything else to calm me down..."Honey, what can I do?", "Do you need a beer?", "Do you need to get out of the house?" , "Babe, you haven't said anything in like, two hours, are you really OK?"... he disappears for a little while and then returns, leading me by the hand to the bathroom, my most unfavorite place in the whole house. 

Where he has run me a bath. 

And set out a clean towel. 

And filled up a water bottle. 

And turned on music. 

I mean, what was I supposed to do with all of that thoughtfulness?

There was nothing I could do except take the bath. So in I go, and I try not to look at the spotted fixtures that need to be buffed, and I try not to see the long strands of my hair on the tiled floor, and I try not to look at the rugs that badly need to be shaken out, and I try not to think about how I'm definitely going to have to take a shower as soon as this whole bath experience is over.

So, you can just imagine how horrified I was when, one night, our 1952 "Original that Came With the House" soap dish fell off the tiled wall, leaving a gaping, disgusting, wet hole. The owner of our neighborhood hardware store hooked me up with some cement stuff and said that the ceramic soap dish AND the hole needed to be "extremely dry" before I could fix the wall. Which meant the only way to get "clean", at least for the next day or two, was to take baths and try not to get any water in or around the big gross cavity that used to be a nicely tiled shower wall.

I waited an eternity (two days) before cementing a slightly damp soap dish all around the edges, and then I shoved the old thing as hard as I could into the wall. It was a bit crooked, but what did I care?! Hole COVERED! The job was fairly sloppy, so I dragged my finger along the cement and smoothed it down a little, making it look a little less like the construction job of an uncoordinated 5 year old. 

And I waited. 

I waited exactly 12 hours less than the directions noted before taking a much needed shower. Upon stepping out of the tub, I looked at my handiwork, which was still holding strong, though I noticed that the gray adhesive looked a bit, well, gummy, I guess. But who cares!??!! I was CLEAN!

Not long after drying off, Seth and I heard a giant crash but neither of us could identify the noise and so it was quickly forgotten. Until the next day. When he yanked the shower curtain back in preparation for his morning shower and saw that ugly wet hole again, and this time, the monstrosity was paired with the pieces of a broken ceramic soap dish laying on our Elmo bath mat.

And just like that, we were forced to take to the tub again. Only this time, in addition to the partially dried, gray, gummy cement that had to be removed from the tiles, I also had to find a replica soap dish that would actually fit over this gaping eyesore. And it turns out that it's difficult to find a soap dish made of ceramic that is the size of a Buick. So I had to buy a slightly smaller soap dish and a giant tube of caulk. And I had to wait. Again.

I sustained one more bath and then decided I needed to figure out a way to take a shower without actually fixing the stupid hole.  And the same idea dawned on me that has dawned on many incompetent tradesmen before me. The thing that owns its very own rhyme, smartly incorporating the F word. The thing that is sported on many a t-shirt, is the pun of so many jokes, has become a very popular and cost efficient material for hats, prom dresses, wallets, purses and countless crafts, the thing that every single household has in droves, the thing that saved me from any further bath-taking....DUCT TAPE!

Paired with Saran Wrap, Duct tape saved the day, the week, the (embarrassingly) month! It may have been the ugliest "window" in the house, but it was by FAR my favorite.