We stayed at the Paramount Hotel while we were in Portland last week. It's a far cry from the Super 8 both in price and comfort. The room itself was spacious with a king bed, desk, chair and ottoman, and probably the narrowest and deepest closet I've ever seen. But the bathroom. Oh, dudes, the bathroom—granite counter top (not what I'd choose for myself, but still, nice), huge glass shower stall, and a deep jetted-tub—there was a toilet in there somewhere too, but I was focused on the tub and I promised myself that before our 3 nights there were up, that tub and I were going to have us a go.
So Friday night I was out late and had had a couple-few glasses of wine at my high school reunion. I got in pretty late and was already tired, and what with the wine and all, I didn't want to fall asleep in the jetted-tub and drown. So I decided to wait.
Saturday, Scoob and I spent the day visiting and again got in pretty late. I figured anticipation only makes it better in the end, so JT (as I came to call it) and I decided to wait just one more night.
By Sunday, JT and I knew our amount of time together was limited. We'd have to make it happen that night or never. Scoob and I spent the day walking and taking pictures in downtown Portland, all the while, my mind was on JT and the long, hot, pulsating...*ahem*...soak...we'd have ourselves later.
And so ends my ever-so-brief foray into soft porn writing. I've been reading waaay too much Nora Roberts dudes. So, all that really happened, you know, but just not quite like that. There really was a jetted-tub, a reunion, walking, picture-taking, and much, much visiting--that part is true.
When we got back to the room Sunday evening I settled in for a nice bubble bath with a library book. It was a deep tub and I waited patiently for the water to fill above the jets so I could turn them on and relax. While I was waiting for it to fill, I noticed that the supposed "bubble bath" was not exactly getting bubbly. I got in and resigned myself to a bath sans bubbles (life's rough, eh?).
Once the jets were submerged, I poked the little on button and after that it all happened so fast. It's just a blur. The whole tub began to roar and tremble and suddenly water was shooting everywhere in the bathroom. Anything within 3 feet of the tub was getting drenched as I howled and dove to shield the library book.
So there I was, tuckus hoisted into the air, half-sprawled half-kneeling in the tub praying I hadn't woke Scoob so he wouldn't walk in and find me in this undignified position. 'Cause I'm so dignified (and classy, too), don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
My stifled scream faded into a giggle and I was soon laughing to split my side as I scanned the tub for a way to turn the the danged thing off. I finally deduced that the start button must also be the stop button (thank you, Microsoft, for that bit of learned reasoning). "So much for a relaxing bath," I thought as I continued laughing and surveyed the damage.
I let the tub fill as I grabbed a spare towel and began sopping up the mess. So it wouldn't be a bubble bath, and it wouldn't be a jetted-bath; but by golly I was having a bath.
After I finished cleaning up my mess, I climbed back in and turned off the water. I settled back to read a little and a few minutes later decided to try the jets again, hoping that the additional water would do the trick. I did learn enough from the previous attempt to shield the book first. But after a quick sputter, I was once again on for the jetted bath so I set the book aside and leaned back into the jets and just closed my eyes to enjoy it and relax.
I'm not really sure how long my eyes were closed, but when I opened them I found that my bubble-free bath had morphed and had a 2-foot column of frothy bubbles rising above the edge of the tub. I couldn't see my face, but I imagine my eyes went wide right before I started laughing again and tried to pat the bubbles back down into the water, which only sent them floating through the air to land all around the bathroom.
I figured that was enough for the jets, turned them off, and leaned back to enjoy the bubbles a little before I had to figure out what to do with them. As I lay there, I thought "this must be how they make those bubble baths in the movies" (I don't get out much) and I preceded to lift and dunk various appendages in the water and watch the bubbles cling like in some old Doris Day movie.
I ended up just leaving the bubbles in the tub and needed to rinse myself off in the shower post-bath to get rid of them. And so ends my hot date with a jetted tub. I'd love to do it again sometime, but I sure am glad I didn't have to clean the tub afterward. That was probably the most "clean" fun I've had in a tub since I was a kid and mom would play "Splish Splash" or "S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night" on the stereo while I pruned up.