Remember that scene in Pretty Woman when Edward and Vivian are in the giant bathtub in Edward’s hotel room and candles are lit and it’s all like, romantic and stuff?
Of course you do. It’s a tale as old as time, really, where a hooker meets a rich dude and she is so virtuous and beautiful with excellent dental habits and so totally brilliant at blow jobs that he falls in love with her after they take a bath together and she laughs at his jokes and it’s exactly what I thought of when I walked into the room of a romantic inn in Vermont where my husband and I were celebrating our wedding anniversary.
The bathtub in the room was enormous, and the huge picture window behind it overlooked a snowy field bordered by a snow covered forest.
Of course, this romanticness was all pre-children and pre-mortgage because the chances of actually doing that sort of thing now? are like, forget it.
I think the trip cost us about eight million dollars.
Anyways, we had quite the evening planned for ourselves and did I mention I was about four months pregnant with our first daughter at the time?
Well, I was and I was workin’ the glow and the little tummy and I was feeling like the prettiest princess in all the land, or at least in Vermont anyway.
I got myself dressed in a hot little black cocktail dress with all sorts of beads and crap on it and I wore my fuck me shoes and put on a ton of mascara and piled my hair high in a big mound of carefully constructed party curls which I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed relentlessly because my hair is a stupidbitchasshole and doesn’t hold a shape longer than a millisecond and that really pisses me off.
Ahem.
Sorry.
I get all kerfuffled about my hair.
So, I’m all pretty for my husband and our romantic night and I’m feeling awesome because my morning sickness had finally started going away. We had the most wonderful gourmet dinner and just about everything was dripping in butter and cheese and there’s pretty much nothing better than that, especially to someone who has spent the past four months throwing up at the thought of eating.
During dinner, I may or may not have ignored the whole pregnancy thing and had my first glass of wine in months, so I had a little wine buzz (don’t judge! The baby is fine now after the fourth round of surgery) and I was really looking forward to that bathtub and my plan to make pretend I was Vivian and my husband was Edward.
I was workin’ it, baby.
I was owning it.
As we left the restaurant it started to snow, and I totally suck at walking sexy in the fuck me shoes never mind walking sexy in fuck me shoes in the snow.
I sort of looked like a newborn giraffe trying to get to its feet, only the giraffe is way more graceful and so my husband had to carry me back to our room.
In the snow.
With twinkly white Christmas lights all around us.
Sigh.
You’re ready to barf right now, aren’t you?
Yeah. Me too. I hate the mushy shit.
JUST GET TO THE FUCKING PART, CRISSY!
So we get back to our room, and I got all nakey and put on the satiny little bathrobe thing I brought with me. I started the bath, put some candles around the tub, and lit them with the matches I found by the fireplace.
We got into the tub and I about flooded it my own self if you know what I mean in anticipation of the Water Aerobics that were about to take place. We were just starting with our hot and our heavy when I noticed that the lights got a little brighter.
