You are chin deep in bubbles--those perfect little orbs of relaxation and whimsy.  The hot water swirls around your body, soothing sore muscles and a tired mind.  Your head rests against the tub's lip; your toes peek out of the frothy bubbles, red from the heat.

The only way to have a proper bubble bath, you know, is to sink into it, melt into the bubbles and hot water and drift.  You are not allowed to ponder anything too serious--the bubbles won't allow it.  You can only let your mind meander as it will, here to reflect on the day's sunrise, or there to contemplate the pleasures of a glass of wine, or further still to the way your fingers and toes pucker like little raisins the longer you soak.  Eventually, your thoughts range further--to the promise of the weekend, to the bliss of the evening dinner.

After a time, when the water has begun to cool and the bubbles begin to pop, you take up a dusty old paperback to keep you company in the tub.  You read about airships and distant lands, clockwork contraptions and sweeping adventures all while soaking safely in the comfort of your ceramic oasis.  It doesn't matter where you go, only that each turn of the page allows you to linger in the healing waters until the bubbles have faded and the water is no longer warm. 

There is nothing to do when faced with the bleak prospect of cold water and little bubble islands but place the book down and wash quickly.  You seek refuge from the faded glory of hot bubbles in your plush robe, already looking forward to your next tub indulgence.