When I first moved into Ma Maisonette, I realized I would not be able to have the Temple of the Bath I've wanted for my entire adult life.
It is indeed the smallest room in the house and the way that it's situated means there is no practical, efficient, or economical way to create more room. Thus, I am stuck with a 1964 blue-tiled salle de bain with a tiny blue sink, a blue toilet, and a blue bathtub. I figured I would never be able to have one of those luscious corner "garden baths" or any of the glorious accessories that should go along with it.
But I spent yesterday doing some extremely serious shopping and have learned that it is, indeed, entirely possible to have my dream bathroom without turning my living room in a bathroom.
I found a wonderful bath store (this is Jersey - there's a store for everything here and most of them are on Route 22) and a guy who Explained It All to me.
He made me slip into the bathtub where I lapsed into a reverie and thought, it will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine. A friend who was with me saw the expression on my face and laughed out loud. This tub will, in fact, fit into the space my sad little bathtub resides in. Only it's twenty inches deep.
Did you know they have toilets that do everything now but sing you to sleep? And you can probably get that model in Japan. There are toilets that wash your bum after you do the needful and then air dry it. I am not joking. There are lights. There's a control pad that gets hardwired next to the toilet so you can program what you want done. It also has a motion sensor so it opens when you walk up to it, to save you from the laborious effort of actually raising the toilet lid.
I have to tell you, there is way more to all of this than I ever thought.
Do I want a 1.6 gallon flush or a 1.2? Apparently the 1.2 has some kind of jet engine attached to it and flushing it sends a spray of water shooting up from the middle of the bowl. The sales dude, who was the Jersey version of a Parrot Head, apparently told the company rep, "That's shooting dirty water up my ass!"
I appreciated his honesty. Look, let's not be dainty. We're talking about bathrooms and we know what they're for. Let's talk about the practical functionality of getting rid of pee and poop.
But wait, there's more. We talked about how I could possibly fit a Katy-size sink into the bathroom. There was also some discussion over whether Katy could manage to get into the high tub. That cat loves to be wet. After I take a shower, she'll hop into the wet bathtub and give herself a thorough going over. Any time I want to get to the sink, she's usually in it, making herself even more comfortable. Any new sink I buy must accommodate Katy.
We talked about one of my secret joneses, a heated towel rack.
Once you've had hot rack, you'll never go back.
It was ultimately decided that I'll have the bathroom wired for one but will wait until next year because they are $1,000. Yes. $1,000 to keep your Fieldcrests toasty.
I decided against the heated tile flooring because I cannot imagine myself having to turn on the floor (WTF?) half an hour before I take a shower. And there's maybe only ten square feet of the bathroom floor. (Although on second thought, all the cats would love it and that's probably where they would all try to live. Tempting...)
But as I constantly remind myself - as I did when I saw a guy back up on the Parkway the other day because he'd missed his exit - in Jersey, anything is possible.
3 comments:
Best be careful or Jammies will be moving in with you.
The Old House (official designation) had a garden tub. I think I used it maybe 10 times in 15 years. First, it was awkward to get into and out of because of a very wide surround. Second, it was always full of cat hair and my hair because it connected to the sink/vanity where cats drank water, I brushed my hair, and cats hung out in general (remember that wide surround. Cat Haven). Any bath was by necessity preceded by hair removal and even after a thorough cleaning, there would be car hair.
Last, and most importantly, Florida (as you may well remember) has some of the most chlorinated water anywhere. Chlorinated water makes my skin itch within 20 minutes. After 22 minutes, my hands and feet begin to peel. The itching lasts for a good hour after I'm dry. This is true for brominated water as well. No hot tubs. Water softeners do not help.
I have no such problems in fresh water or sea water, but those are in general not available for bathing in-house.
As a child, I spent hours in the tub reading and luxuriating with nary a problem but pruny feet. Either the chlorine levels went up or my sensitivity did. Either way, tubs are but big cat hair gathering zones anymore. I shower.
I had a garden tub and a huge very accommodating cast iron tub once in an otherwise hideous apartment. They are great if you have gerbils, you can set the critters down in them and they have a huge space in which they can tear around to their tiny heart's delight. Otherwise I have no use for bathtubs. The cast iron one in particular was a heat sucker and it was quite impossible to keep water hot in it. I am with Sherri regarding the garden tub. Once in it I had one hellish time getting out, and it proved both slippery and dangerous. Then I became a nurse and it started dawning on me that I was soaking my butt in this water that was them all over my whole body. I don't believe I have taken a bath since.
All that being said, I do wish you the bathroom of your dreams.
Sherri, I don't need to move in with Becs, I think we have the same bathroom, right down to the blue tub.
Becs, hie thee to Bed, Bath & Beyond and purchase a plug-in towel warmer. They're about forty dollars, fit in a bathroom too narrow to swing a cat, and heat up your towels & robe a treat.
Oh, and e-mail me about this tub of wonder, please?
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