“Real” Men Don’t Do Baths. Really?
Rub-a-dub-dub-dub. No Men in a Tub!
Why do women love to take baths and men view them as something akin to waterboarding? This I do not understand. Yet, statistically speaking, it’s so. Most men don’t do baths, viewing them as “girly” and a waste of time.
Now, before you flood my inbox (and my bathroom) with protests to the contrary, I understand some wise men do tub! But statistics do not lie.
91% of American men say that they don’t take baths.
Real Men Don’t Do Baths
Reasons range from the time commitment, the efficiency of taking a shower, the frustration that bathtubs are too tiny, or a belief that baths waste water.
Yet, we, the gentler sex, revel in the time to unwind, the coziness of a tub — even if it’s a big soaking tub and luxuriate in sinking down into the tub practically overflowing with steamy water and bubbles or oil.
It’s not about efficiency. It’s about relaxation and escape.
Women Do Baths
If I cannot vacation, I can bathe. If I cannot spa, I can at-home-spa. And if I cannot claim one whole hour to myself, I can at the very least grab 15 minutes of tub time.
But men just don’t get it, insisting the whole tub experience calls to mind being boiled in oil or at minimum, being boiled like a lobster in a pot! What a bunch of babies!
Take Handsome Hubby, please … as the old Henny Youngman joke would go. HH can have his sacroiliac out of whack, but will he set foot in our fancy-schmancy jacuzzi tub? No way! He’d rather suffer than suds!
Romance and Relaxation
If I dim the lights, set out an array of candles, and scatter enough roses you’d think it was the path to the Rose Bowl or the Bridal Chamber at a swanky 4-Star resort, will he take the hint and join me for a bubble bath complete with champagne? No way! (And it’s not that he’s not romantic. Au contraire, my fellow tub aficionados. Cue the same setting (minus the bathtub and he’s all in — in a flash.)
But men and bathtubs. No way.
For his anti-tub rant, HH echoes the “manly” objections of “wasted” time and water but adds one more point. He thinks the idea of sitting in your own “detritus” is gross. For the record, detritus means “gravel, sand, silt or other material produced by erosion.” It also means “organic matter produced by the decay of organisms.”
Talk about Gross!
Now the word “detritus” is indisputably gross, in a tub or out. And if HH applies the term his own skin, I’m worried. At a minimum, he has a severe self-image problem! Or maybe he has some horrible skin condition that somehow, I’ve never noticed! In either case, it’s troubling. Clearly, I need to book an appointment with the dermatologist for him ASAP!
Anyway, back to the topic at hand …
Bath Through My Ages
When I was younger, I was too busy to take baths. But now that I’m older and have achy bones and tight muscles, long soaks in the tub are a must. They’re not just good for my psyche, but a must.
And like most harried, married, modern women, I’ve long enjoyed bathtime as an easy, always-available escape. Just close (preferably lock) the door. Then, whisper those four magic words, “Calgon, take me away” and voila, magic! a gal is transported to another place. Dishes be damned. Work deadlines and family obligations be damned. Even the worries of the world temporarily be damned. For a few minutes, there is tranquility. Men, especially the anti-bathers, could learn a lot from us.
Of course, eventually, the fingers prune, the water temperature drops, somebody pounds on the door, and reality intrudes, but still, for a few blessed minutes, a gal can — and does — dream of peaceful shores where she is buoyant, weightless, and without worry.
And as for future invitations to HH to join me for some quality candlelit tub time? Well, certainly not until he gets the “all clear” from the dermatologist! One man’s “detritus” is another’s leprosy!
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