Mary Ellen and I just returned from a trip to San Francisco with our friends the Murphys. The last time we were in California was 40 years ago on our honeymoon, but we weren’t going to let one bad experience prevent us from giving The Golden State another try.
On this vacation, we stayed at a very old hotel, which you would think would be a good choice for four kinda old people. After all, we got a senior discount on the room, and a dinner menu with early-bird senior specials. Why then, I wondered, did we end up with a bathtub that would be a challenge for a 20-year-old Olympic pole vaulter?
The tub was probably in that bathroom since the early 1900s, a time in our history when the average lifespan was 47 years, unless someone never took a bath or shower and then could probably make it to 60 without breaking his neck.
This ancient relic, known as a claw foot tub, had sides that were three feet high, and there were no railings or rubber bathmats to reduce the chance of slipping when entering or exiting the combination tub/shower. This freaked out my wife.
“You can’t step into something that high above your knees. Not a man your age.”
“Isn’t that what you said the last time I put on a pair of shorts?”
“Dick, you have to promise me that under no circumstances will you get into that bathtub unless I am standing here holding you and watching your every move.
“You know, Mary Ellen, 40 years ago that would have been a really seductive thing to say, but now it just sounds kind of creepy.”
In the interest of safety, we both skipped showering for two days. The third morning we left San Francisco and headed to Yosemite National Park. It was about a four-hour drive and we both looked forward to a hotel with more up-to-date amenities.
“Oh no!” screamed Mary Ellen, when we first walked into our room. “It followed us here!”
It was true. There was the same kind of tub. Somehow, this one looked even more menacing. The sides were higher and the tub floor looked more slippery. The cold and hot water knobs were much harder to reach, requiring I bend way over. Taking a shower was now more difficult than tying my shoes.
“I can’t go another day without washing my hair,” Mary Ellen said.
“Well, it’s either dirty hair or a broken neck.”
There was a long pause. “I’m thinking it over,” said my wife. “I’m thinking it over.”
We both managed to clean up safely, although we did learn definitively that a curtain is not a good thing to hang on to when you find yourself falling out of a shower.
On our long flight home, we assessed our vacation. “Let’s see,” Mary Ellen began, we really had fun with the Murphys, we saw Alcatraz Prison and enjoyed the hikes through Yosemite National Park. On the other hand, we risked life and limb in all the bathrooms.”
“Tell you what, Mary Ellen, let’s just call it a wash.”
