Not Gary Johnston In The Bathtub
I cannot remember the last time I had a bath before last Saturday. I prefer a shower because I do not like to sit in or rinse with dirty water. But I love to soak in hot water until I look like a prune. Soaking in hot water reminds me of my once-wonderful life in the womb.
In the womb, there were no taxes, and my mother always brought my meals. While in the womb, I served two terms as President of Fetuses Against Drugs (FAD). What a rewarding job! Unfortunately, I had to resign as President of FAD when I was born.
I had lots of baths when I was a kid, but the only one I remember happened when I was five years old. My mother put me, my four-year-old brother, and my two-year-old sister in the bathtub. I assume my mother was trying to save water by bathing us together. Everything was fine until my sister pooped. I remember seeing the brown miniature submarine float to the surface. My brother picked it up, and it broke in two. Seeing the broken brown small submarine was my cue to get the hell out of the tub. I never bathed with my brother and sister again.
Last Saturday night, I decided to have a bath after years of promising myself to do so. I am at an age where having a bath on a Saturday night is one of the three highlights of my social life. The other two highlights are watching a fly crawl up a drape, and picking my nose while listening to classical music. (Can you imagine the joy of bagging a big booger while listening to Beethoven’s Fifth?)
The bathtub looked large enough for me to submerge my whole body simultaneously. But once I got in, I could not submerge my legs and upper body at the same time. If I submerged my upper body, then my legs were above the water. If I submerged my legs, then my upper body was above the water. This never happened when I was in the womb.
