Malcolm's Bath

I am not one for bathing.  When I shower (once a week, whether I need it or not!) I quickly identify all areas that have been soiled and quickly give them a how do you do.  It usually takes 5 minutes, and I am ready to go.  I rarely, if ever, have time to use my imagination in the tub, and when I do, it usually revolves around having my twig and berries cleaned by supermodels.

Malcolm, on the other hand, exhausts his imaginative capabilities while in the tub.  His baths are usually an hour long and are totally devoid of any scrubbing at all.  He has a whole repertoire, and will absolutely not get out of the tub until he is completely done going through his various tasks.

The first thing that he likes to do is play with his sea animals.  Somewhere along the way, he got a whole bunch of ocean dwelling foam animals that stick to the side of the tub.  They have no discernible names, Malcolm has opted to refer each of them by their scientific classification.  By far, his favorite is shark, who ruthlessly attacks the other animals and, when not actually consuming them, requires that they perform menial tasks.  Once, shark made octopus drive him all around town and then cook him dinner.  Little did octopus know that once dinner was finished, shark ate four of octopus's legs. Shark is kind of a prick, he chases around jellyfish, screams at whale, and has eaten lobster more times than I can count.  Shark is a lot like Gordon Ramsey.  Or Hillary Clinton.

After Shark is done, Malcolm starts with the Pirates.  He has a Backyardigans pirate ship and the ship sails around the tub obeying all traffic laws.  They don't actually do much pirating, as they spend a lot of their time running away from shark.  Whenever they get too scared, they go below deck to hide.  Occasionally, the pirates leave the ship to do some exploring, but these escapades usually end up with someone crying.  Personally, I think the pirates are a bunch of candy asses. 

At some point, Malcolm must concur with my assessment, because he opens up his lemonade stand.  He has a variety of small bottles lying around the tub, and he dutifully fills them up from the tap and then tries to sell me lemonade.  Most of the time, the lemonade is sweet and good, and we enjoy bottle after bottle of lemony goodness.  Once in a while, though, Malcolm slips me a mickey in the form of a glass of sour lemonade.  I contort my face to reveal my displeasure and he howls in delight at having pulled one over on me. 

Once he wraps up the lemonade stand he lies face down in the water and begins to swim.  I am not sure if he actually thinks he is swimming, or if he just likes the way his junk feels when it is trapped against the bottom of the tub.  This is a potentially devastating effect, because he splashes around so much that he will soak the entire room.  Invariably, he uses this opportunity to start eating the bubbles that are left in the tub.  For a while eating bubbles is fun because I tell him not to do it.  Then, the bubbles make their way down his throat, and he begins to hack and gag.  It is at this point, and only this point, that he will agree to get it out of the tub.  His fingers are pruney, his sea friends are dismembered, and his pirates' egos are shot.  It is finally time to get out.  Sometimes, it is a struggle to get him into the bathtub.  Even when we have physically drag him in there, he won't get out until all the different angles are explored.  I guess it beats daydreaming about supermodels.