(From The Times and The News-Star, Nov. 2, 2010.)

The problem is the commercials on television that end with a man and woman bathing in separate outside bathtubs.

You’ve seen them. (I watch with only one eye.) In any of the commercials, a man and a woman are cooking noodles in a wok or painting a den wall or playing a game of Scrabble and all of a sudden, the two exchange these knowing looks, as if saying to each other, “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not about the exchange rate on yen or the offensive line problems of the Cleveland Browns.”

This is when business picks up. Suddenly, the walls of the kitchen or den fall – it’s really more like they transform – and the environment changes from 102 Everyday Lane into something between Yellowstone National Park, Sherwood Forest, and the Appalachian Mountain Range, only without anybody there except The Man and The Woman.

What will happen now? Will they gather firewood? Build a tent? Work on a merit badge? No! They are just going to sit on a rock and cook a Smore, as if supper’s not burning and paint brushes aren’t hardening back at home.

But possibly the most disturbing part is that they suddenly start talking. Not to each other. To ME. To YOU. Why? What did we do? Did we even ask? Do we need a bath? What is the deal? I don’t even KNOW these people!

I’m just sitting there watching the ballgame and then there they are, sharing some pretty substantial issues with me. And telling me that I can come sit on the rock too! And, I guess, bathe.

Because that’s what always happens next. They end up in His and Hers bathtubs, there in the middle of the forest or on the mountainside, looking out onto the sunset and thinking, “Man, am I glad we reserved these two tubs so close to each other, and what do you suppose it costs to get plumbing run all the way up here, and do you have an extra towel because I’ve got  to admit that, in all the excitement, what with cooking supper one minute and then suddenly being in a tub up on his mountain the next, I forgot to bring one! Shoot, I don’t even have soap!”

Always with the bathing…

My granddaddy wouldn’t take a bath. He said he didn’t want to wash his face in the same water he washed his butt in (excuse my French). No Rhodes Scholar, my granddaddy, but he had a point. He would not be comfortable watching this commercial either.

So I don’t know why watching strangers bathe makes me nervous. Maybe it is hereditary. I could ask my mother but there are some things you just don’t ask, not to anybody, not even to your mother.

Then again, this might be an entirely normal feeling. I would appreciate knowing that I was normal in at least one regard. I might be nervous watching strangers bathe because the people are naked and in a bathtub. And I’ve never seen them or the tub. Although I guess I would be even more nervous if they were bathing in my own personal bathtub.

Issues. The bottom line here is that I hope it all works out for these couples, but they will have to go it without my hands-on support. They are in my thoughts, as much as I wish they weren’t. I don’t even like to watch me bathe, to be honest. Usually I just close my eyes and hope to hit most of the dirty spots.

-30-