Chateaux de bath

I hopped in the bath with Elijah last night. I know I know, that’s like looking down the barrel of a loaded butt. But Eli and I were having a grand old time and I didn’t want to waste a minute of fun out of poo fear. And I hadn’t bathed in 3 days and was beginning to smell like an El car.

So we were splashing and laughing and I was administering my own homemade waterboarding. What’s the big deal? Eli loves it. But then Eli started in on my least favorite bath activity besides pooping: Bath drinking.

The kid loves the taste of bath water. He fills up buckets full of the stuff and chugs it like Gatorade. I try to stop him because it’s dis…cus…ting. But when I do, he hollers bloody murder. The kid has half full sippie cups full of filtered water everywhere and he still prefers tepid man soup.

Just then Grover tromped in and began lapping up bath water from the edge of the tub. “You too, Ding Dong?” I said. Grover then began to lick bath water off my arm. I banished him from the bathroom to prevent him getting a taste for me and later eating my arm in my sleep.

I began to think. I have never actually tasted bath water. It might just taste like cotton candy. So I filled up one of Eli’s bath buckets and took a sip.

And you know what? It tastes terrible. Like soap, sweat and underarm goo. We were both lucky the bath didn’t suddenly taste like dada vomit.