Opinion

Thoughts On Love And Unwillingness To Drag Bathtubs Great Distances

Am I the only one disturbed by these erectile dysfunction advertisements on television? It’s not so much their prevalence, although that’s a bit off-putting. Nor is it the condition itself that is troubling. I accept the reality of time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near us all. It’s the picture they paint of all the various places where for so many beautiful sexagenarians “the moment” is right. It’s getting to where I’m afraid to sit down in a public place.

The iconic dual outdoor bathtubs. We’ll start with the most obvious head-scratcher. Show of hands, who really thinks it’s a good idea to lug two cast iron bathtubs all the way down to the beach, or up to the scenic mountain vista? I’m pretty sure the last guy for whom the soak-tub figured so prominently in romance was William Howard Taft. Seriously, how did it ever come to this?

Husband (at spa with wife): You were right, honey. This place is perfect, just what the doctor ordered. I’ll do anything you want. Just name it.

Wife: How about you drag the massive tub from our bathroom up to the vineyard on the ridge? When you finish that, go and drag the other one from the empty room next door.

Husband: That’s two klicks!

I haven’t even addressed the logistics of portaging warm water. This is a job for the Army Corps of Engineers, not a periodontist from Alpharetta. The reality of the situation begs two questions: First, what is sexy about lumbago? For that’s what you’re flirting with by dragging those porcelain loads over hill and over dale. And second, whose love is so strong that he would do such a thing for his beloved?

Let’s be honest. Not even Helen of Troy could have convinced Paris to do that for her. After hearing the proposition, he’d have been like Listen, Helen, you and Menelaus should totally try to work things out. What’s that? No, this isn’t about the tubs, I swear. That’s totally forgotten. I just need a little “Paris” time. It’s not like I’m going to the other side of the world, just Troy. And quit being so dramatic. This is between you and me — nobody wants to hear our story. You know something? Hector was right. You may have a face to launch a thousand ships, but you’ve got a mouth to send them right back into port. 

An outdoor, nighttime movie in the park. Good heavens, you do realize we’re watching Frozen, right? This is not the point of Let it Go. I haven’t seen this much rustling under tartan since the highland games.

An innocent splash-fight in a resort pool. Not exactly sure where you lovebirds think the cameras are, but we’re not filming The Blue Lagoon here. I get it, we all unwind on vacation in different ways. I however like to swim laps, and with my prescription goggles I cannot un-see what you’ve treated me to these last 200 meters. Do me a favor and check your dosage. Yours is set to teenager.

Parasailing. Are you kidding me? Because when I say flying over water at dangerous speed and altitude, you think sky-groping. What you’re contemplating is graduate-level stuff that you might see at a Cirque du Soleil aerial silk cast party, but nowhere else. And you think you have the right stuff? By the way, if your chutes get tangled, don’t count on Panama Red there behind the wheel diving into the deep to save you. One more payment and the SS WeedRunner is his: he didn’t get where he is by waiting around to fill out police reports.

A surprise rainstorm on a golf course. Sweet Aunt Irene, now even precipitation sets you off? Better stick to desert courses. You might not have noticed, what with your steamed up glasses and all, but this is a weather shelter and I’m sitting right next to you. How am I supposed to get up and down on seventeen when play resumes?

It’s all very unsettling. What public space in America remains that is safe from spontaneous, silver-haired slap-and-tickle? Tennis? No way. We all know how mixed doubles end up when Mort and Lydia play together. Pottery class? Somebody hasn’t seen Ghost. Public library? Please. Connie and Brad say they were returning books: the police report says a sexy librarian was punishing a schoolboy for not knowing his Dewey Decimal System. I’m telling you, nowhere is safe.

My advice? Just keep your head on a swivel. And to the enterprising among you, bring a new product to market. We’ll call it Cold Shower Idol.