Bubble baths have a certain level of serenity that surprisingly not everyone is capable of reaching. Chandler was unable to understand the beauty of it until Monica drew him the perfect bath in ‘Friends’, and many others in non-sitcom lives suffer through the very same concept. Frankly, I don’t know what the big deal is. Bubble baths are awesome no matter the amount of ‘craft’ you apply towards them.

The other day I was so stressed out and upset that my face reached a level of puffiness that is only justified by a severe crying session post watching The Green Mile or something equivalent; you know with snot coming out your nose and everything. It was bad. So I did what every deranged person would do; I pulled the ‘kitchen sink’ trick and shoved everything in there that I could think of.

I turned the faucet on to its utmost hottest. I then proceeded to pour the cucumber melon bubbly stuff that I found under the sink, into the stream of hot water. I followed that by an abundance of Epson salt that I too found under the sink. On top of that, I added some lavender scented stuff to the mix; the substance of which I don’t even know the nature of. I sealed the deal with a pine scented candle and a bottle of Zin, conveniently named Zen.

Providing myself with Gilmore Girls on Netflix and proper ventilation via bathroom window, I soaked my toes and boobies in the tub for at least two hours. It’s amazing what an abundance of flavors that aren’t normally compatible with one another can do in combination with sadness and stress along with a bunch of bitches on the screen who talk way too much, too fast can do. I even managed to fathom a selfie that doesn’t reflect my inner puffiness.

I exited the tub feeling refreshed and relaxed. And isn’t that the point of a bubble bath?