-Let the water run, good and hot. Fill it up to where the water should reach your neck and then turn off the faucets, the hot water first because it takes longer, then the cold. Admire the way the water steams, foretelling something good.
-While waiting for the water to cool, open a bottle of wine. Pick out a movie. Line up the products you brought from the countryside of the edge of the bathtub like ladies in waiting, honey almond scrub, brown sugar face polish, intensive jasmine moisturizer, a fat cake of orange spice soap milled in France that your mother sent.
-Cut your nails short. Buff them, push the cuticles back, (do you even have cuticles anymore?) file them, trying not to leave any room for ash or dirt to creep back underneath, as this is an obvious sign to anyone that you live in a ger. Your “ger hands” have become an object of self-scorn, though they prove you have been working hard. Perhaps when you go home you will bring back the trend of wearing day gloves. Fantasize about buttery leather the color of toffee, scalloped edges of black net wrapped around your wrist.
-Place the bottle of wine on the floor next to the bathtub. Turn on Charlie Parker in the next room. Slip into the bath, slowly, gently and then sit down, quickly. You will get used to the feeling of warmth. Your skin doesn’t really mind, all that much. The first few seconds of hot water, like the first few minutes of cold air in the morning, are fleeting. It will pass and you will be fine.
-Drink the wine, listen to the jazz. Just think, if you didn’t live the way you live, in the place that you are living, this could feel like America, all the time.
-Marvel at how, in the countryside, this much water is what you use for tea, brushing your teeth, drinking, and washing your face, in a week.
-Have you ever truly enjoyed a bath?
