I’ve just had an experience that was greater than _____ (you fill in the blank with your own fantasy). No, it wasn’t that! I had my first bath in my new hydrotherapy walk-in tub. It was installed this past Thursday, and the workmen told me I had to wait forty-eight hours for the grout to set before I could use it. So, of course, at forty-eight hours plus one minute, I opened the door, climbed in, and turned on the tap.

Now, in my house the hot water heater is in the garage, on the other side of the house from the bathroom. It usually takes a considerable amount of time before the hot water makes the trip from one end of the house to the other, and I didn’t want to sit in the tub while cold water was splashing on my naked body. You see, with a walk-in tub, you have to get into the tub and close the watertight door before you start the water. (Of course, in Phoenix, Arizona, in the summer, cold water is merely tepid.) My solution? Start the water in the sink next to the tub, and when it gets warm, bath ahoy!

So, I poured a glass of wine, put a book I’m eager to read on the back ledge, took a seat in the tub, closed and latched the watertight door, and turned on the tap. While the hot water was pouring in, I studied the controls on the side panel, eager for the water to reach the jets so I could turn them on and enjoy the special features of this tub. I’d been hankering for one since I first saw the ad featuring Pat Boone in a similar hydrotherapy tub. Of course, the fact that I was seeing my high school heartthrob naked (from the waist up) may have been a factor in my decision to buy this extravagance––that and my diagnosis of arthritis and spinal stenosis.

Finally, the water reached the level where almost all the jets were covered. I nervously tapped the controls that turned on the bubbles. There were three levels––Pulse Up, Pulse Down, and Wave-pulse. I decided to go whole hog, and tapped the button for Pulse Up. Immediately, the water began to churn and boil and splash as air jets pushed water onto my feet, my legs, my thighs, my hips, and my back. It was as though thousands of little fingers were pummeling me, patting me, reaching for every inch of me to give me pleasure. OMG! I’m embarrassed to say I actually moaned. The book I had intended to read was completely forgotten in the ecstasy of a full-body water massage.

After a while, I hit the button for Pulse Down, grabbed my glass of wine, and just enjoyed the most relaxing experience I’ve had in years. When I became afraid I might fall asleep because I was so relaxed, I reluctantly turned off the bubble machine and opened the drain. Of course, I had to stay in the tub until it had emptied completely before I could open the door. A friend had told me that one of her relatives had a similar tub and said she didn’t like the fact that she got cold while waiting for the tub to drain. This problem was easily solved. Cleverly thinking ahead, I had hung a huge bath towel next to the tub, so I stood up and dried the top half of my body, and then wrapped myself in the towel while the water was emptying.

Very soon, I opened the tub door and stepped out, feeling more relaxed than I have in years. I was slightly chagrined to find that the book I’d intended to read while relaxing in the bubbles was now water soaked. Oh well, a small price to pay for ecstasy.

I firmly believe that this tub is going to pay for itself because I will no longer have to pay the physical therapist I’ve been seeing two or three times per week. So, in one hundred thirty-seven and a half weeks, my wonderful new bubble machine will have paid for itself.

I think I’ll name it “Pat.”