...and don't panic! The Know brings you advice during housing
A true friend is always there for you, especially when you're drunk.
Miss Quit regresses to her childhood this week as the prospect of beginning the "University of Life" looms.
Recently, I was cajoled into doing something that would normally be unthinkable to me - I had a bath. As a life-long Showerhead, there has always seemed something a bit strange to me about wallowing in one’s own filth. It seems to utterly defeat the point of washing.
Yet, it was promised that steaming in a tub like a lobster would cure my cold and thus desperation got the better of me. I thought, to capitalise on the situation, I could use the opportunity to get a quit out of it too. Result.
I can confidently say, with the benefit experience, that I will never be converted. No offence to you Bath-aholics, but I don’t understand you and your voluntarily wrinkled toes. Anything that makes you look 85 years older than you actually are cannot be that great.
Instead of my invigorating morning shower, I was sat in the bathroom waiting as the equivalent amount of water needed to sustain a small third world country filled the tub. The room got hot and steamy, yet the water was decidedly tepid when I eventually dipped in a tentative toe. In the overall time it took me just to draw the damn thing, I could have showered, washed my hair, and had about five pots of tea (which, incidentally, would have used a fraction of the water).
Invigorated? No. Infuriated? You betcha.
The mysteries of bathing are abundant and unavoidable. How are you meant to adequately clean yourself in a horizontal position? Why can’t you ever achieve massive amounts of really good bubbles, like the bath scenes on TV? But most importantly of all, what exactly are you meant to do if you get your toe stuck in the tap?
Attempting to wash your hair in the bath is something I would not wish upon my worst enemy. Its suicide, especially if your tub has nothing but two taps that only emit water of the two most extreme temperatures: sub-zero or scalding. My scalp, if it were not covered in hair, would visibly resemble a war zone.
And I don’t see that there’s anything particularly romantic about them either. Just adding a few candles and exotic smelling oils doesn’t guarantee a particularly enjoyable or sexy experience. If it did, then everyone would go to Greek Orthodox churches for hot dates, and they don’t. As far as I know…
Anyway, its not even the bath itself that annoys me so much as the protectiveness of Bath-aholics over their temple of cleanliness. “There’s nothing like a good bath”, they say with an air of wistfulness. Thank god, I say. Bearing in mind that a human being can drown in as little as a mere inch of water, the possibility of death from accidental bathtub submersion is frighteningly palpable. Who can feel relaxed in the bath knowing that imminent death is a distinct possibility? Therefore lets just conclude that I am, and will always be, a militant (and somewhat paranoid) Shower-head.
You can keep your bath salts and soggy books, your steamy rooms and scented candles. I’ll be washing vertically under a strongly pressurised nozzle if you need me…
tbh it just sounds like you need a bigger bath 
I'm mainly a shower person, but every few weeks there's nothing I like more than having a long soak in a bath...
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