I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I do like a bath.
And that’s where I was, Sunday night, when I had the strangest experience.
Aside from what you may have heard, I’m not accustomed to strange experiences in tubs. True, I once bathed in oatmeal – not sure I did it right, as I needed a brisk shower afterwards. I also once took a quivering, ice-cold bath after a quivering, ice-cold motorcycle run. Didn’t warm up until morning.
Outside of that, the tub and I have a good relationship.
So there I was, Sunday night, fingers slowly pruning, my toes pushing up through bubble kingdoms. Hot, steamy, relaxing – and the thought bursts forth: “Oh, no! My watch!”
That’s sobering. The last time I wore a wristwatch it was 1992. It disappeared during a vacation, after a friend decided that I had checked it one too many times.
She asked to see it, I handed it over, and she threw it into the ocean.
And now, many years later, the ghost of this watch appears in my bathroom.
Holy Hannah. What is it time for?