Hot Tub Nirvana for $100 (Re-Post, Not The Crap Tree, But ‘Tis the Season) December 21, 2012Posted by skinbad in Family, Gardening, Personal Experiences, Sex.
I can’t do better than the actual title. The other night, after some bloggy reading about “worst Christmas presents ever,” I asked Mrs. Skinny what my biggest Christmas failure was. She’s polite and demurred. But I convinced her to lay it on me.
Here is the graphical representation:
To address your question, the answer is “No. I did not have Lauraw crate Dave in Texas and ship him to my wife 13 years ago.” If you care for the back story, I’ll continue it below.
My wife gets cold easily. Coldness leads to crankiness. Even my selfless offers to “warm her up” sometimes fail to lighten her mood. Something about it not being that funny after the first 2,000 times. So back to my story. She used to say “If I could only have hot water up to my neck.”
Picture the light bulb going off above my head when I read this:
The term “low tech” doesn’t begin to cover the simplicity and functionality of the design. No bubbles, no jets, no electricity, nothing to break, just deep hot water up to your neck.
That’s a quote from this article in the godless-hippie-recycled-asswipe-hemp-will-bring-world-peace publication Mother Earth News (which I confess I enjoy reading).
I connived to take a couple of half days off work and set up shop in a cooperative co-workers carport. Of course this was December and it was an ass-freezing experience. But I built the thing and was pretty happy about how it turned out. I even managed to hide it from her until Christmas morning. She truly was surprised in a “Whaaaa . . . .?” fashion. I eagerly explained how she now had the means to make her warmest wishes come true.
I should back up now and point out a quote from the article:
This little beauty is designed to fit inside your present mass-produced standard American bathtub.
Trust me on this: Don’t EVER take such a statement at face value. I never measured. It was too wide for our tub.
Determined that my hard work would not be in vain and that I would have a warm and happy wife, I attacked the problem with gusto. I found that by putting a rubber tub mat down and then putting two cinder blocks on the mat, the little plywood box of nirvana would fit.
It is a long story. But to pass the climax and get to the sad dénouement, I found we had no place to keep such a box in our small home. I had to keep it outside with the cinder blocks. I began prowling after my wife in the evenings asking if she wouldn’t like a hot bath. If she gave in, I had to sweep snow off the tub and carry it and the cinder blocks through the house and set up and fill it. Because of the cinder blocks, the elevation was not easy for her to overcome. I also had to provide a step-stool and helping hand for entrance and exit.
At some point, I stopped needing validation that my gift wasn’t a rotten failure and she stopped pretending the whole thing wasn’t more hassle than it was worth. I have to say that I used it a couple of times and it was pretty nice when I was in.
The next spring, I came home from work one day to find that the bare-root trees my wife had ordered were soaking in a very handy container. It’s stayed out by the garden for years now. It’s held rakes, shovels, and hoes. As needs have arisen, tipped on it’s side, it has also been used as a dog and duck shelter. So it has been useful in some ways. But, not only was it the present that I put the most thought and work into, it was also my wife’s worst Christmas present evar.