Absconded by a bubble bath

Calgon took me away last week.

Almost literally.

Nearly two years ago, my friend Cindy made sure I was loaded up with body-softening oils and lotions and face creams, and a mega-box of Calgon bubble bath before I left for my new life in Australia. Some of those 'trusted-name-brand-products' I'm used to are not available here.

Cindy wanted to make sure the drier air and harsher sun wouldn't wrinkle me up like a raisin. The atmosphere in the Pacific Northwest is very moist to say the least. It rains a lot. She loves me.

So like a squirrel, I have hoarded most of my moisturizer stuff and used it sparingly...mostly in the summer. I haven't wrinkled too badly yet.

But lately, with the back problems I have explained ad nauseum, I broke out the Calgon to soak myself in hot water with softening bubbles in my spacious jetted tub. Heat will help the bad nerve swelling, the doc said.

So I thought that if a quarter-cup of bubble-making Calgon will do, then a half-cup is better, right? I hadn't thought about the tub jets churning the water more than a regular bathtub, thus producing copious bubbles.

To add ambiance, I brought nearly every candle in the house into the bathroom and placed them on the convenient spacious shelf at the end of the tub. I was alone, and thought about reading my latest Jane Kirkpatrick book, or listening to Maire Brennan's Celtic tunes, or puffing bubbles around the bathroom just for fun. But instead I decided to enjoy the quiet for an hour or two.

By the time I gingerly lowered myself into the steaming tub with the doctor's warnings of "don't bend, don't twist" in my head, the bubbles were about three inches over the lip of the tub.

No worries, mate. I didn't care. The more bubbles the merrier. The jets and warm water sure felt good. I could make castles and the Cascade Mountain ranges with Mount St. Helens exploding if I wanted to...even duplicate Mount Kilimanjaro or Mount Everest. Who cared? I puffed and blew bubbles up to the ceiling and laughed. I had a great time.

I floated, rotating my sore back to the jets, laid on my tummy and on my back until I nearly fell asleep, wrinkled like a California prune.

Ah. Luxury.

But I realized I was getting too sleepy and that if I didn't get out, I'd likely drown and the house would burn down with all the candles lit.

By this time, bubbles towered over the tub almost to the window that has an outside view...about three feet up from the tub...five feet from the floor. I couldn't see candles anymore. Come to think of it, all I could see was bubbles.

Time to get out. So I put into practice what the doc said and gently turned over onto my tummy and lifted my left leg out the side of the tub edge to place my foot firmly on the dry towel I had ready, and gently ease myself into a standing position, per his instructions.

But the towel wasn't there. I don't know why. When I found it a few minutes later, it wasn't dry. The entire floor was covered in wet, slick bubbles.

With one foot and a portion of leg out, and no dry towel...the rest of me followed in a hurry, backwards. Like an untrained seal, I slipped and flopped flat on my bad back on the black marble floor.

"This is not good," I thought.

I was covered in bubbles, surrounded in bubbles, and nearly breathing bubbles. I think if someone had walked in they wouldn't have even recognized a human form under all the pink foam.

I groped for the towel that was supposed to be there, so I could cover my nakedness (I am modest after all). I found it about a foot away, soaking wet and covered in bubbles as well. I draped the bubble-covered towel over my bubble-covered body anyway, because I am modest, as I said. It doesn't matter that no one was at home.

Because I was alone I knew I needed help. I couldn't move, and I was afraid of hurting my back more. But I was not going to call "000", the Australian equivalent of the American "911" so a bunch of young, handsome men could find me like this.

My hand flopped around near the area of the closed toilet seat where I thought I left my cell phone. Found it. Thanks be to God. Sent a text to a girlfriend for help.

"I've fallen and I can't get up."

She was there within fifteen minutes, helped me up, wiped all the bubbles off me, got me dressed in a bathrobe and handed me the prescribed valium and codeine I was due for. By this time it was really needed.

Calgon didn't take me too far away.

But I thank God the medicine did about 20 minutes later.