Indulgences, Intimacy, Impediments

The other night I got a phone call from a person who was in the middle of taking a bubble bath. Not just any bubble bath, but a green apple scented bubble bath. That is probably not the aroma I'd choose if I were to take a bubble bath, which I haven't done in years. This person - a man, actually - told me that he's in touch with his feminine side and regularly indulges himself in a hot bath. I think hot baths are a fabulous idea, and I even have a medicine cabinet with bath products from overseas, including bath tablets (Sprudelbad) from Germany in two scents: grapefruit-lime (for vitality) and vanilla-bergamot (antistress). These tablets have not only traveled across the Atlantic but have also been stored in two bathrooms and one attic over the years. I wonder if they are still good.

As I was saying, I think hot baths are a fabulous idea, and I often think this thought while traveling, figuring that, when I return home, I'll take a bath. But often, when I could really use a bath, it is simply too cold to get undressed to get into the tub. I'd rather stay fully clothed, rather than risk a wee chill en route to relaxation. But last night, one of the coldest we've had this year, as I warmed myself by a radiator and spoke to this person, I began to think about why I don't take baths.

"My bathtub is somewhat small," I explained, while trying not to imagine him in his green apple scented tub. I had had two dates with this person a week before; there had been a mildly flirtatious vibe going on between us but nothing much beyond that. He doesn't live around here and it seemed prudent to take things slowly. His decision to phone me while bathing came across as a unilateral acceleration of intimacy to which I wasn't completely receptive.

"If you don't take baths, what do you do to relax?" he asked. A fair question, I thought, but then I realized that I'm not particularly good at relaxing. Intense yoga helps, as does attending synagogue on Friday nights and meditation. But none of these activities feel like indulgences -
I see them as necessities, without which my stress level would escalate and become an enormous impediment to functioning.

Meanwhile, my foam covered friend pointed out that I was creating impediments to conversation by not being open enough to some of his questions. I don't disagree with his assessment. It's hard to pinpoint precisely when my defenses went up and why - perhaps a combination of his intensity, the geographic distance and the not insignificant difference in our ages - but towards the end of the long call, during which he had transitioned out of the tub, the good vibes had stopped flowing. There was no acrimony or anger, but the lightness had disappeared, much like the bubbles down his drain.