A few years ago, Greg came to me with a problem. His life would end as he knew it if he went another second without owning a hot-tub. Through a series of craftily argued tactics including, “I’ve wanted one ever since I was a little boy,” we headed to the store.
I have never wanted a hot-tub for the following reasons;
- Everyone we know that owns a hot tub used it for the first six months and not a day later
- Maintenance
- Why would I want to subject myself to the bitter Canadian winters, ice crunching underfoot to feel warm and cozy when I can do it in my corner tub
- Bathing with friends
- Bugs
- Bats
The now three year old hot tub has been sitting empty for at least six months, the textbook length of time it was used by Greg before the novelty wore off the first time. Once again, we’re ramping up for a big hot tub season and it has fallen on me to climb into the tub that when empty looks like a sparkly plastic spinny ride at a fall fair.
The gloves are on, vinegar spray and soapy, warm water. I’ll get it looking like new so grown men can run from the children’s jungle gym, trudge through the snow while trying not to spill their beer before scissor kicking their way back in.
