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![2018-05-13 18.32.33.jpg](https://ipfs.busy.org/ipfs/QmfDX95dVyDUHSfocSaSfekT69nSHDeET5k1ECJrmfB3Lz)

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A loud announcement blew in through the screen on my bedroom window this morning.  With it the distant sound of crows cawing and the tinkle of scallop shells blowing in the wind.  Warm wind brought me the announcement again a few moments later, like a properly timed alarm, just to make sure I was up.  Wilbur was obviously busy in the backyard, keeping a close eye on his ladies, and on the rising sun.  

 I sat up in bed and thought about how I needed a bath—a nice cool bath to go with the spring weather that was blowing in through that screen on my bedroom window.  The wind was lying.  In one week spring would leave again.  But I knew where I could get a proper spring bath anyway.  

The sun was rising quickly, there wasn’t much time.  I threw on springtime’s appropriate attire for a bath.  I tossed French toast in a frying pan.  The boy licked the maple syrup off of his plate.  The tot dribbled it onto the chair and then across her cheeks, mingling it with smeared snot.  “I’ll wipe you down in the van,” I said, grabbing my bag.  “We’ll get a proper bath when we get there.”

![IMG_20181228_215409.jpg](https://ipfs.busy.org/ipfs/QmRsuPTbfCPNNHt38jT3y3NVpxMXjHTjBNY2kVZsvpL1ts)


We made a fifteen minute drive through uncommonly heavy traffic.  “Out-of-towners,” I grumbled.  “They better not have taken all the good parking at the bath.”  We were in luck.  

The scent of the spa wafted around us.  It was such a relief to be at a proper place again, where everything was tailored to my needs.  I admired the shape of my fellow humans stripped down for their proper baths—skin faded from no sun for two months; round hips; pink painted toe nails; a wide sculpted chest.  

![IMG_20181228_215235.jpg](https://ipfs.busy.org/ipfs/QmYzYMVmCnt152Z6CJUfNrS4vAbSJJSDejbaPNknY3CC6B)

First, my skin was well exfoliated.  Next, my hair was scented.  Then, and only then, did I stick my feet into the bubble bath.  The bubbles were a bit excessive, but no complaints from me. 

“It is cold and sticky,” the boy said disapprovingly of those bubbles.  I nodded, but leaned back and watched the wind turn the excess into bubble tumbleweed.  Gobs of that white foam rolled off and away; wheels of bubbles rolling on the ground. 

![IMG_20181228_214911.jpg](https://ipfs.busy.org/ipfs/Qmc4tkdjva6H7uVheCB9Xcf8Xt12eX2c4yDV7EjDL9F7jz)

The bath was so relaxing, I’m too tired to write more than three hundred and ninety words about it.