Last winter, Dave and I spent several weeks in Florida and the condo we rented had a hot tub.  I was thrilled, Dave got addicted, and so we decided to get a new hot tub of our own.

The final hookup was done.  I wanted to hop in, but no, wait!  The store’s representative needed to talk us through: the buttons; the jets; the maintenance; the pH; alkaline; hardness; chlorine; high output; low output; boosting; salt; and various test strips.  Of course he lost me at the jets.  Did we have any questions?  Heaven’s, no!  There were two of us listening, and we have a volume of paper instructions for our reference, plus online information is available, so of course we’ll remember it all.

So last night, at dusk to be sure nobody would see me in my swimsuit (because I would rather die than be seen), we opened the tub’s cover.  Naturally, everything we’d been taught was out of our old grey brains by that time.  Dave had a great suggestion:  Let’s get in, and if our skin starts to itch, we can get out.  AWESOME!  He turned on the jets, and we climbed in.  We each picked one of the four sculpted seats, leisurely draped our arms around the spa edges, settled in, and…

The first thing I noticed was something blue up around my face.  It was the skirt of my very modest swim-dress, filled with the bubbles and air from the spa, and evidently trying to rise like a hot air balloon.  I held the skirt down, but then without my arms anchored to the edges of the spa, the force of the jets kind of pushed me over the sculptured seat.  Wheee!  The seats in this spa are rather low to the footwell, which means my knees were drawn up and I didn’t really have a way to brace myself against the blasting jets.

Dave wasn’t faring much better, either.  He was bobbing over in his corner because he’d started to reach over to help me and lost his grip.  His legs shot up, though, and we now understand that salt water does, indeed, help one to float.  We rolled.  We twisted. We looked like two damn baby belugas frolicking in an ocean whose waves changed in a medley of colors, thanks to our “luminscense” lighting system that we forgot we could select to “enhance” our mood.

Time to read the manual.  Which we did, and we are now experts at adjusting the force of the jets.  What started out as more of a shipwreck than a voyage to relaxation got its course corrected and we spent a lovely hour and a half alternating between the four seats.  My fav?  The moto-massage jet.  It’s like little fingers running up and down either side of your spine.  The night was gorgeous, and it was relaxing – finally!  Another of life’s experiences and enjoyments.  Maiden voyage completed.  But we’ll never try sailing a ship on our own!!




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