The Bath House

During a recent trip to Korea, I was lucky enough to experience the delight of a day at a bath house. My guide book said it was an absolute must-do. It also warned that you were going to be naked all day and that nobody was going to speak English - i.e., be prepared to stand there in all your glory as the attendants point and gesture to get any point across to you.

When I got to the spa in the morning, I did a real quick courtesy rinse before jumping into the first hot soak of the day.   The showers were all out in the open with no stalls, curtains, or dividers. Just you and all the ladies already soaking…and watching, because you are very much in their field of vision.

As soon as I sat down in the hot tub, I watched in fascination as these Korean women came in and basically surgically scrubbed in for their day of public bathing.  First they brushed their teeth. They opened up their throats and gargled crazy deep and then bent over and spit out the esophageal lining they had just conjured up.  Then they threw a foot up on the ledge and got all up in their woo ha’s - soaped her up and rinsed her out, turned around and did the same with their rear. You do not see this happening at your local YMCA, people. I have never seen another woman clean like this before. And certainly nobody has seen me scrubbing away at my junk. That I'll do when I'm home behind my closed bathroom door, thank you very much. Then they took out a mitt and loofahed for 15 minutes easy. Every square inch.

I soon realized that these women were probably horrified at the lack of actual cleansing that took place during my so-called shower.  A lady came over in a black bra and panties and gestured for me to follow her. It was time for my scrub - something else my guide book said that you simply had to experience.  When that was done she pointed me to the shower again to rinse off the oil she had coated me with. This time I would not let the ladies down. I awkwardly sang a song to myself to try to keep myself calm: “I'm now reaching down and soaping up my genitals for you people...see how clean I can be?  I can’t believe I’m spreading my legs like this in public.  And my butt, oh God! Now... I'm cleaning my butt.”

They glanced over, unimpressed and unknowing of the angst I was going through.  It was an eye opening experience, getting Korean-clean, for sure.

Keep it clean

I was thinking back the other day to an achieved childhood memory. One night my grandmother was babysitting me, my sister and my cousin. She let all three of us help her mix up a batch of brownies, which would have been fun in and of itself. This brownie mix, however, came with a packet of peanut butter that you squeeze on top and run a knife through to make pretty swirls. After she had put most of it on top of the batter, she squeezed the rest out into her hands and said, “You had better run.”

We all screamed and ran through the house as she threatened to smear us with peanut butter. Of course we were all thrilled by these out-of-character shenanigans put on at grandma’s. Each of us ran a little slower than normal to make sure she would, in fact, catch us and then happily took a palm of peanut butter to the face or neck.

The thought of me doing this to children I might be babysitting horrifies me. It really got me thinking about how rigid I have become. Thinking about possibly getting any peanut butter on my walls or couch, seriously gets me anxious. I can’t get even get a little spunk on my belly these days without requiring a full wipe down with a moist towel.

Another memory I think back to with fondness is when my mom used to pile up couch cushions in front of our door and then sprinkle the linoleum floor with baby powder. We would run from the next room in our socks, slide and crash in to the padding for hours. It was free, and kept us kids happy.

Whew... I can feel those heart palpitations again. I just can’t imagine voluntarily making these messes just for the kids. Somewhere along the way I have lost my ability to let loose and let things get a little messy. Crotchety-old-lady-hood, here I come.