J'accuzzi
What exactly, one is prompted to wonder, IS the etiquette of the hot-tub exactly?
Drawing clues from the media, one would suspect that it is to frolic naked and drunkenly while surrounded by snow, or use it as some sort of dreadful prop for a swinger's lifestyle - I suspect it's popular on that scene because you can chlorinate the water to minimise risk of infection.
But what about with real people?
Friday morning at the gym means a swim and, instead of running shrieking from the pool into a cold changing room while my swimming trunks grow clammy on my skinny arse - spending five minutes in the hot-tub. This not only relaxes but also, more importantly, gets some warm water on my now battered 'muscles'.
Exercising early has its benefits - one of them being that the hot-tub has not been used at that point and it's a pristine bubbling pool rather than - as it is later in the day - people soup.
So I'm sat there bubbling away when…I'm joined!
Now, if it's a bloke…actually, that's not a problem. Blokes do not join blokes in the hot-tub. Ever!
A young woman slips into the bubbles. What to do? I mean, obviously I shuffle along a bit to make room and, more importantly, make sure that at no time do our bodies ever touch! Thank God for English reserve. We just sit there. Enjoying our bubbles and relaxing. At one point I even stopped holding my stomach in.
It was the ludicrousness of the situation that fascinated me. Here you are, basically sharing a big tub of warm water with somebody, and doing your best to pretend they are not there.
But what kind of conversation could one really make? 'Nice cozzie?', 'I can see that working out has really firmed your bust?', 'Aren't you worried your hair colour is going to run in this hot water?', 'Don't you think you've been sat over that nozzle long enough young lady?'
In the end of course it's a shared facility and I should simply take the stick out of my arse and get used to it. Or, print up a small 'reserved' sign - as a description of my character rather than an attempt to snag the hit-tub for myself.
I suppose there are people - 'normal', I think they're called - who can probably slip into a hit-tub and strike up a conversation? Wonder how many relationships have started that way? 'Mom, how did you and dad meet?', 'Well, I chatted him up in a hot-tub.' 'Gosh mum, you slapper!'
Drawing clues from the media, one would suspect that it is to frolic naked and drunkenly while surrounded by snow, or use it as some sort of dreadful prop for a swinger's lifestyle - I suspect it's popular on that scene because you can chlorinate the water to minimise risk of infection.
But what about with real people?
Friday morning at the gym means a swim and, instead of running shrieking from the pool into a cold changing room while my swimming trunks grow clammy on my skinny arse - spending five minutes in the hot-tub. This not only relaxes but also, more importantly, gets some warm water on my now battered 'muscles'.
Exercising early has its benefits - one of them being that the hot-tub has not been used at that point and it's a pristine bubbling pool rather than - as it is later in the day - people soup.
So I'm sat there bubbling away when…I'm joined!
Now, if it's a bloke…actually, that's not a problem. Blokes do not join blokes in the hot-tub. Ever!
A young woman slips into the bubbles. What to do? I mean, obviously I shuffle along a bit to make room and, more importantly, make sure that at no time do our bodies ever touch! Thank God for English reserve. We just sit there. Enjoying our bubbles and relaxing. At one point I even stopped holding my stomach in.
It was the ludicrousness of the situation that fascinated me. Here you are, basically sharing a big tub of warm water with somebody, and doing your best to pretend they are not there.
But what kind of conversation could one really make? 'Nice cozzie?', 'I can see that working out has really firmed your bust?', 'Aren't you worried your hair colour is going to run in this hot water?', 'Don't you think you've been sat over that nozzle long enough young lady?'
In the end of course it's a shared facility and I should simply take the stick out of my arse and get used to it. Or, print up a small 'reserved' sign - as a description of my character rather than an attempt to snag the hit-tub for myself.
I suppose there are people - 'normal', I think they're called - who can probably slip into a hit-tub and strike up a conversation? Wonder how many relationships have started that way? 'Mom, how did you and dad meet?', 'Well, I chatted him up in a hot-tub.' 'Gosh mum, you slapper!'
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