The Suds of Her Discontent
She sank down into the bubbles, listening as they burst, one by one, around her. The water was just a touch too hot for her comfort, the tub just a bit too small to get comfortable in. Certainly no spa jets anywhere in sight. Ah, but better than the tub in the house you grew up in, she reminded herself. All that you DO have, and you only moan about what you don't.
From the bedroom she could hear classical music, but rather than a quiet background, it was annoying because the volume had been turned up more than she'd intended. The scent of the bubbles clashed with the fragrance of the candle, and she sighed, craning her neck in a futile attempt to rest it comfortably against the ledge of the tub.
She half wished that he would come home right now - and then half wished that he never would. Idly she wondered if she could hit her own head hard enough that she might slip under the water. The know-it-all side of her Self reminded her that, rather than a romantically tragic scene, the discovery of such an "accident" would be messy. Cold, dirty water and an already slightly bloated corpse.
She sighed and sat up in the water. She pursed her lips and wondered how one was supposed to take a buble bath in the first place without needing a shower afterward to wash the bubles off. Of course, she had poured far too much soap into the running water, because the last time she'd tried this nonsense, there were almost no bubbles to be had.
She pulled the drain handle, slipped on her old robe, and walked toward the bedroom to turn off the music.
From the bedroom she could hear classical music, but rather than a quiet background, it was annoying because the volume had been turned up more than she'd intended. The scent of the bubbles clashed with the fragrance of the candle, and she sighed, craning her neck in a futile attempt to rest it comfortably against the ledge of the tub.
She half wished that he would come home right now - and then half wished that he never would. Idly she wondered if she could hit her own head hard enough that she might slip under the water. The know-it-all side of her Self reminded her that, rather than a romantically tragic scene, the discovery of such an "accident" would be messy. Cold, dirty water and an already slightly bloated corpse.
She sighed and sat up in the water. She pursed her lips and wondered how one was supposed to take a buble bath in the first place without needing a shower afterward to wash the bubles off. Of course, she had poured far too much soap into the running water, because the last time she'd tried this nonsense, there were almost no bubbles to be had.
She pulled the drain handle, slipped on her old robe, and walked toward the bedroom to turn off the music.
posted by Carly at 3:40 PM
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