Saga of the Whirlpool


	Peace, Quiet, Chocolate, and A Little Bubbly . . . Very Little Bubbly ~~~~~~


		© 2002 Carole Moore

	Recently I spent a weekend with my family in Myrtle Beach. We go every January for a little R and R after Christmas. It's a chance to unwind at rock bottom prices, with really nice hotel rooms at rates the average person can enjoy. After a particularly trying Christmas season, I decided to go all out: I reserved a room with an in-room Jacuzzi. I couldn't wait to climb into that bath and as soon as the children were happily splashing around in the big, indoor swimming pool, I headed for the tub.

The room was quiet and peaceful and the Jacuzzi loomed like some kind of sanctuary: I had visions of the Calgon commercials, my bath taking me away somewhere. But in order to truly enjoy the moment, I needed to be properly prepared.

I needed bubbly. Not champagne, but Diet 7-UP – that's what passes for bubbly in my world. And I needed something decadent to eat, like Godiva chocolates. Only I didn't have any Godiva chocolates, so I grabbed my daughter's package of Hostess cupcakes. At least it was chocolate!

Then I needed something to read and I chose two of the Writers Digest magazines I'd brought with me. I grabbed a fluffy towel and started the water. This was going to be great!

When the water was the right temperature, I climbed in, popped the top on my soda, ate a cupcake and started looking for the switch to turn on the Jacuzzi. I went up and down the tub, inside and out and found nothing. Instead of delightful little bubbles, all I had was a really up close and personal look at my own thighs.

Now, I'm not going to tell you I don't know what my own thighs look like – after all I'm the one who has to dress them every day. But I wear bifocals and I take showers in a dimly lit shower stall, so I don't really see my thighs, if you know what I mean.

And that's why the experience of sitting in a very brightly lit room with my things floating a couple of inches from my nose was unsettling. For one thing, I didn't know thighs could float – although I suspect it has something to do with fat content. And I also didn't know I had a map of British Columbia on them. So it was with great disappointment I reclined in the non-bubbling, rapidly chilling water of the Jacuzzi with my well-marked thighs floating around my ears.

I must tell you I did everything I could to start that Jacuzzi. Finally I gave up, ate the other half of the cupcakes, drank the rest of the 7-Up and climbed out, dropping both magazines in the water.

Later I confessed to my husband and brother-in-law that I'd not been smart enough to figure out how to turn on the Jacuzzi and they went to investigate. After 20 minutes of checking fuses and crawling around the bathroom, they showed me a button – a button that looked like a company logo, with a microscopic "on" and "off" on it. I saw the button when I climbed in, but thought it was kind of like a hood ornament on a car – pretty but useless.

My 10-year-old was delighted that his mother had not broken the Jacuzzi and immediately took a bath. When he later climbed out, he was dripping, pink and unbearably smug.

"It's easy, Mom, you just push that button," he told me.

And he was right, as I discovered the following evening when I lowered myself into the Jacuzzi with his package of Hostess cupcakes.

Never mess with the woman who knows where the Hostess cupcakes are stashed

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