OK, I’m a lady scientist. I believe in experimentation so I’m sitting in the bath tub complete with aromatherapy bath bomb salts. Speaking of experimentation, who in the marketing department of this said aroma device thought up “Bath Bomb”. Haven’t we got enough to worry about THE BOMB in the news media? Do we honestly have to carry this idea into our peaceful bath?
So, first, I am drawing a line in the sand. No more bath bombs! Give me lavender scented epsom salts in the economy container at Wally’s World. Oh dear, I just confessed it. I would be drilled out of Berkeley and other snooty areas of the Bay area for this admission. I purchased something at the W. store. Even speaking the “W”, causes thetrue snoots to start backing slowly away in horror.
Yes I go to W. mart, the D. Store and Groc Out and finish up with a semi snooty cruise through TJs. In the end, I’ve mixed with every walk of life and had a ball. Sure, I occasionally encounter people who look silently in horror and push their carts briskly past, kind of like I’m an escapee from some asylum. But the other folks, the let’s play kind of folks love to hang and chat and just stop for a moment from the insanity of our world right now. I’ve bonded over fluffy blankets with a superb dame at Groc. Out who was searching for something soft for her sis in the hospital. It was fabulous working with her to find the best and softest blanky for her sister. I’ve chatted with a young woman at the W. over nasal spray and antihistamine. After all, I’m a scientist. I know this stuff backwards and forwards and am the sneeze high priestess of allergy season.
OK You guessed it. I’d talk to a dead squirrel if desperate enough. I live in the woods and pride myself on being a semi recluse. The truth is, I love being alone and hanging out in nature but then I have to escape to folks, live folks, anywhere and who may just take the time to say hello, let alone smile. The Methodists throw a monthly pancake breakfast. I wouldn’t miss it when I’m in town. In fact, I troll for those individuals who will actually play back. There are a few up here, but they are an endangered species. Humor is often suspect. Last Saturday, I cruised up to this perfectly nice gentleman and said: “Congratulations, you just earned the booby prize for sitting next to a chatty Cathy who has had way too much caffeine.” He looked a bit confused, but I have to give him credit. He smiled, hung in with the conversation and didn’t call the white coats.
I frequently pet sit to get my cat and dog fix and let’s face it, every guy alive has learned that a dog on a leash is a chick magnet. It doesn’t cut both ways. Still, I’m a bit long on the tooth and don’t own a perfectly groomed and barky Pomeranian, let alone possess a size 4 figure in a running suit. But this is another experiment I performed in San Francisco. My site there is approximately six blocks to the dog park. This the the city’s mode of socializing hounds, on cement with other peeing and pooing canines and their humans. Don’t get me started on dog tapeworms and other delights that can be passed on paws and collegial sniffs. It took three months of vetting before I felt I almost belonged to the human pod that gathered on that cement site.
There are numerous paths to this park and most have trees to sniff and pee upon along the way. My “renta dog” loves it, especially the sniffing part. Last year, I decided to count the humans, more precisely, humans that performed one of three life threatening actions: 1. he/she smiled, 2. he/she made eye contact, and 3. he/she actually said hello.
Now, I tried it first in the busy lane of stores on 24th st. It’s known for its shops and lively atmosphere and it’s dog friendly. Store owners even put out water dishes during the summer. How cool is that? Twenty-three humans passed. None performed the above three considerations or even a single one. Guinness dog, an elegant mini schnauzer and I returned home to try yet again another day.
I then pursued the streets leading down to the dog park. Human research: Two out of eighteen performed one of the three communication options. I finally tried “active reciprocity”, a big term for “initiate and see”. Again, two out of eighteen.
The sixteen remaining were in their personal zones of their own creation. A city friend said, “Hey, they have boundaries.”
Oh give me a break, smiling boundaries?
So I’m writing up a scientific report with my conclusions. Tight sphinctered individuals with way too much time to do their self-introspection develop accelerated levels of angst. Heck, so would I if I efforted so much with the Greta Garbo “I vont to be alone” stance.
So next time I’m in the Bay area, I’m going to do another experiment. I will actively smile, make eye contact and say hello to eighteen out of eighteen. I’ll report back to you on my results.
Yikes! I’ve wandered far from base. I started this treatise in the bath. It’s now turned lukewarm and I’m not soaked sufficiently yet. In truth, I’m on a quest that requires another scientific experiment.
Here’s the deal. I put out a call for the perfect board to lay across the tub so I could write my articles unscathed and without watermarks. It needed to be precisely 29 x 7 x 1 inch. Please refer to my previous article as God forbid I should repeat myself.
Yesterday noon, my favorite elder hippie Willie Nelson look-alike who does a mean percussion jam called. Is that really a sentence? He had found the perfect board, and get this, bless his heart, he was sanding it. He came over and installed the board and yes, I am test driving it for the following parameters: height, distance and sturdiness.
Erma Bombeck step on by. I’ll write my next novel from here. This board is the perfect length, width and depth. The distance allows me to lean back and best of all I can write on tilt or level with the board. My writing is water spotless! I am now a fierce and dedicated writing machine afloat.
I think I’ll do my taxes from here.