Carolime Time

Oh those 905ers. You’ve heard of them, you might know a few, you might have actually been one at some point…and they’re talked about far more than you notice. The term 905er has planted itself firmly in Toronto’s slang and in-the-cool jargon, especially in the  downtown core. But what exactly is a 905er and why is the term not exactly an acceptable one, and therefore not one to be associated with?

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We went on a little bit of a Sunday adventure today. I introduced a dear friend to the Distillery section of Toronto, and came across a Scotsman along the way. This friend is a bit anti-social and I like to surprise him with all the little tidbits of the city he hasn’t been exposed to. I like taking part in someone else’s discovery, and I especially enjoy watching his expressions of delight when happening upon something new. Luckily, the weather was friendly to us and our whole day was blessed with that crisp autumn air that I favour so.

We met at the corner of Yonge and College and hailed a cab. I sorta jumped out of this particular cab’s way as it came damn near careening in my direction. I do think it was speeding, and the whole ride sorta sped past us in a haze. Honestly, I’ve grown used to talking to Toronto cab drivers and homeless people and all those other ‘characters’ you meet in a city, on a bus or at a bar. You know the ones I’m talking about, with the painful and similarly curious stories you carry around with you the rest of the day and reference when you think of every indigenous native’s plight and every new immigrant’s struggle. I know; we all have our stories.

Anyway, this cab driver was a wrinkled, rosy-faced Scotsman. In fact, he referred to himself as ‘The Scotsman’ on his business card, which matched the red tweed print of his hat. I don’t know how he managed it, but he finagled a conversation out of me! (ha ha?) He started telling me how he quit drinking 30years before, and I found myself sympathizing with him, throwing in my own family associations with alcoholism. At the same time, I wondered why he’d confide in me so easily.

He was quite the talker, and moved into less personal talk. One story just led to another, and eventually he was telling me about his marvelous life as a confectioner of chocolates, and how he spent his youth going dancing and wooing the ladies with his chocolate-making skills. I really did feel like I was sitting at my grandfather’s knees, pushing him to tell me more. And I imagined this Scotsman from Glasgow, spinning young lasses in frocks around a dance floor, plucking his suspenders as he flirted with them and boasted of the different éclairs he could make with fresh cream. Yes, I did ask him if he regularly had fresh Devon cream with hot scones and jam!!! (I’ve never tried this and really want to) Apparently, in apology for a drunken spat at the fish and chips shop following a night of intoxicated Glasgow partying, he once traded a pound of chocolates for five pieces of fish from the lady of the shop. It was apparently the source of laughter for all his friends. Yes, before I knew it, we’d arrived at 55 Mill St. and the bricked pathways of the Distillery. It was at this point that he slipped us the business cards and I tucked it away in the safest place I could find in my wallet. Next time I’m lonely, I want to go for a drive with the Scotsman. We hopped out of the cab and my friend just shook his head at me, ‘cause of course, I’m a sucker for storytellers and characters.

For those of you who haven’t been to the Distillery Historic District, it’s an enclosed area just south of Front St. and east of Parliament, in Toronto. It is known as the Distillery District because of the grand Gooderham and Worts whiskey distillery and mill that once contributed hugely to Canadian industry. A couple of years ago, this was my favorite area of Toronto. It is great for tourists and taking friends for a short history lesson and stroll through a less-accessible side of Toronto. Less accessible only because it’s not on the subway line and not near many regularly visited sights. I’ve always liked the late Victorian-era architecture and small laneways. The Distillery is never too busy (unless you’re heading there for Nuit Blanche), and very accommodating to the common spendthrift. I can’t promise much activity, though. There are a number of theatres, including the ever-active Soulpepper Theatre and Young Centre For the Performing Arts. Cute cafes, restaurants and shops pour onto the pathways. The reason for my visit on this day? The Boiler House Restaurant! A review of this restaurant is to follow:)

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I really didn’t expect to like Las Vegas. Sin City, “Whatever Happens in Vegas…”, “Vegas Baby”
really aren’t the sort of things that typically woo me. I was expecting a dirtier Dubai, something akin to Amsterdam on ecstasy.
But I think it’s the people here that have captivated me. They’re all really crazy, freespirited, ruthless and charming. They talk the talk and walk the walk, everyone knows ’someone’ who knows someone. They’re not moved by celebrities, and they talk to anyone that speaks their language. Oh and what a language it is. Filled with dollar signs, nods, and concealed handshakes.

Poolside at the Mirage, “Pool Bare”, I watch a girl prance around in a sparkly bikini, popping her foot in the air behind her and laughing at something a friend says a few feet  away. She glances around her mischievously, and checks to see if anyone is watching. Of course, someone is always observing, besides me. Behind her, a woman sits with a group of men and fondles her visibly hard, rock solid breasts while sipping on a mojito. My friend and I exchange a glance of certainty on the question of implants. She is the only topless woman at the pool, which welcomes nudity, and I am the only one in shorts and a t-shirt. We all do something to stand out. The sun is beating down on us, and the DJ plays on behind me. The transitions are smooth, I’m loving every song as he spins Red Hot Chilli Peppers mixed with Kaskade and the guy across from me flexes his chest muscles to the bass, hiding behind his sunglasses with a smirk.

This is Las Vegas, where anything goes, and where glamorous movies find their muse. Every conversation is laced with inflated status, and nothing is offered for free or out of the goodness of ones heart. The warm, inviting promoters get $50 a head for each person they bring into the club, and they shamelessly request your phone number after looking you up and down without noticing you. Thinking that they way to your heart is through flattery, they spin words around your head, perhaps dazzling you on the first night…but that’s why you need to stay in Vegas about 5 nights. Everyone says, leave after 3 nights. I suggest 5 nights–the 4th night, you meet the people you’ve only introduced to. The 5th night, you digest.

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so it’s saturday…story time..
some of the things i’ve been doing here?
well..i’ve gone to town a few times on my own, by train..
i’ve gone to a few of the clubs here in bandra, with my cousin and some random friends through the fam..
done a lot of eating..hit up the best restaurants, apparently? everything tastes good to me, here
done a shitload of shopping..(NO MORRRRRRE SHOPPPPPPPING!!!!)
walked A LOT through the bandra west area..and taken lots of rickshaws..
i’ve hung out at the worli seaface, carter road, and chilled on the queen’s neckline, just about where her necklace hits the nape…
taken a bunch of drives through the night, past the gateway (which is under construction), malabar hill “the most poshy poshy” hood in mumbai..st michael’s church..
visited a lot of bathrooms, including those on the way to goa..had a bit of a shocking run in with a man in a bathroom on the way to goa..but ask me about that in private..
i’ve been tempted to flirt with the hijras..really really tempted..but i’m afraid they’ll punk me…some of them are SO FREAKIN PRETTY…and hot….slim arms (something i’m not blessed with), shapely or svelte in figure, naughty smiles, perfect makeup…dressed in fashionable salwar kamis or saris..devilish, carved eye brows…i’m attracted…so delicate, and lovely….
btw, hijras..for those who don’t know..are the eunuchs..’the third sex’..either with ambiguous genitalia, male genitalia, or sometimes castrated..they take on the female gender role and presentation, though..sigh..

after my first run in with the hijras, i raced home and looked them up online, a little thirsty for stories from others on their run-ins…one man tells a journalist of how he was put into some cult-like foresty environment,drugged, and taken advantage of…oooooh…umm creepy, but who knows if it’s true..
the first run in was on the train going to town..
the hijras were on the train to town asking for money..they were clapping in front of this one girl’s face, trying to get her attention and asking for money..she wouldn’t give them money..and then they pushed her head and she pushed their hands away..and they kept clapping..i was a little appalled, wondering what else they would do besides push her head..they slapped her, next!!
sitting across from her, i was like, ahhhhhhh pleeeease don’t come to me!! (saying this to myself, in my head)..i quickly concocted a plan..
in toronto, i sometimes make ugly faces on the late trains so people don’t pay attention to me..to the point that i am so repulsive that they can’t look at me..these are very natural ugly faces, mind you..
so in this case, i just looked back in a daze when they approached me..i was kinda scared..could they tell?….it’s very easy to give yourself a blank and vapid look..empty the eyes and stare back..they asked, and clapped..and i just stared back…little did they know, i was sorta shivering..a catch in my lungs..they left me alone;)
the other night, i was at one of the seafaces..there are so many here, i love it..a friday night can just be spent walking beside the water:)…and that’s enough..anyway these two lovely lasses came up to us..white salwars..and they kept giggling with each other…flirting with each other? i wanted to get in on it..they were holding hands, calling my friend salman khan and me aishwarya haha trying to charm their way into our pockets..i wanted to give them 100rps right there and then! but no, can’t..i wish they’d stayed a little longer..

sigh..

anyway yeah apparently the hijras are invited to weddings cause apparently they’re good luck..or it’s just bad luck to mess with them..they can curse you..sometimes they come uninvited and ask for money..and you have to give it out of fear of them cursing you..but there are generally no negative stories regarding them..

i’ve also been to some of the clubs and little restaurants here..there are definitely some cute places here…i wouldn’t mind living in mumbai, so long as it’s not out of a suitcase. hmmmmmm…and don’t get me started on how hot some of the guys are..! i still haven’t decided whether i think the indian girls are more attractive here or in canada..the hijras here are definitely pretty;)

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arrived in goa dec 29th..we left at 5am this morning to return to mumbai…i thoroughly enjoyed the 10hr ride there and back…the morning air was as crisp as the skin of the vada baji we ate at 6am, with tea..the bathroom reeked so badly that i couldn’t use it, and i later found a lovely bush on the side of the road…when i got back in the car, we spent a minute trying to figure out if i had left the bush with bugs attached to my shirt..or if they were just dead leaves.. i then had to wipe my ankles with antibacterial wet wipes that my virgo driving buddy was smart enough to bring along..i kept the towels for a souvenir, and they will be on ebay shortly..

keep you updated on the next move

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remember i told you about my indian consulate issues..
well, the dogs lied to me. they said it would be very easy to get my visa renewed here..it definitely wasn’t. i was sure for a few days that i would get deported, and envisioned the police showing up at the wedding and asking for a bribe so as not to cause drama at the event and pull away a bridesmaid from the wedding procession…needless to say, it would’ve been a memorable occasion for myself and my cousin-bride. yesterday was my first decent rest, assisted and made possible by uncle-doctor’s cold medication.

anyways, i’ve been struggling with a pounding black cold and watery eyes for a few days now..honestly, i’ve really cut down and practically quit smoking since i got here–simply because i’m polluting my lungs enough with the air. though i must say, it’s improved since my past visits.

other than these things, i have much to say about my train trips, hijras, and bathroom visits…i still like mumbai..i just gotta go do work and the next point on my agenda is dancing lessons from my uncle. cha cha and jive. i dare not start on how much i love to jive..

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alright, so i’m in sharjah, u.a.e…
just got back from 2.5hrs at the salon..tiring..can you believe i walked barefoot on the street because i forgot to wear sandals for my pedicure? mind you, it was only a few steps and then i hopped into a car, but..i would never dare tell my mom, and definitely not my brother!!! so i’ll just tell facebook..yesterday, my bro wouldn’t even let me lean against a wall because he was sure i’d get dirty…(i did it anyway, and i did get dirty)..dirty dirty rubbish she she.

I have a revived appreciation for food today, triggered by my lunch feast..i just had the YUMMIEST fish curry…i think there’s a reason the food here has been tasting so good, besides the fact that i’ve left behind a dark existence in toronto..
see, i can get away with eating with my hands here. i can’t, so much, back in toronto. my parents just won’t have it. i mean, sometimes i can ask permission at home and do it, or if they’re not around, i’ll sneak a few bites with my hand and think myself clever. but really, i’m just a coward.

i remember in our first year of university, in the first couple of months, tania and i sat down and ate with our hands. it was such a glorious thing. she mastered it, and soon we were making chicken curry and salty vegetable medleys..

i think eating with your hands is a skill you can really show off. i know, it may sound gross, but that’s only if you don’t wash your hands!! it’s a matter of grasping a mouthsize morsel with just the right pressure, and gathering just enough so that it doesn’t slip out of your fingers. this method of eating also taught me to choose wisely for each bite. it’s necessary to include the perfect amount of rice, vegetable, and, if available, papadam..for those who aren’t familiar with papad, it’s this crispy sorta fried chip. oh, and if you’re non-veg, you must of course include a smaller chunk of meat. but that’s just my approach..everyone has a different way of eating. my mom, for instance, hates to mix her food up..
speaking of my mom..nothing tastes better than skin and food. especially your mom’s skin. and i’m not trying to a make a ‘your momma’ joke. seriously, you love your mom (i love your mom), and she really knows how to feed you. when i was young, i used to leave my plate behind and just eat out of my mom’s, simply because i knew she’d feed me with her hand. to this day, if i can finagle a hand feed from her, i will take it!!! it’s been awhile, though..i am running out of excuses..

i must say, i’ve always been a little unsure of the class and social implications of eating with my hands. i can’t tell if it is the Catholic Indians who think they’re too good to eat with their hands, or the Westernized Indians in general, or what..i mean, can i go to a party and eat with my hands? I don’t know if I would..it’s a long walk to the bathroom when there’s dahl dripping down my arm and onto my dress..

see, when i was in india two years ago, we had a bit of a fiasco..perhaps a culture clash..the Indians from the West could not fathom eating with their hands, and demanded utensils.. the locals were unaware that we had such needs..but why would they be? we were from their country originally, no? i mean, the “Indians from the West”, fully knew how to eat with their hands from their childhood..so why didn’t they? It’s because, in public, they just can’t do it. It can’t be done, it’s unheard of! I’m sure the Goans and Anglo Indians know what I’m talking about..anyhow, we got spoons and forks i think..

This past October, I was hanging out with a South Indian (Tamil) film crew in Scarborough…this was a team of about a dozen people visiting from India..They were here a month, and I had a role in this film..I’ll post publicity stills later..it’s called Arasangam..anyhow, each day, they’d have the lunches and meals catered by local South Asian restaurants. On location outside a hotel, they pulled out trays of food…an array of tandoori chicken, white rice, samba, and chicken curry was spread out on a table..In search of a spoon, I noticed there was none. Okay, I thought, cool, and I scooped rice from the tray with a broken piece of styrofoam plate. I used the same foam to lift chicken curry into my plate, and poured the samba on top of this whole plate. Yea, I like to mix.
Next I searched for a spoon and fork…none..the only non-Indian person on the team, who was hired in Toronto, glanced at me sympathetically…he’d ordered a sandwich from the hotel, he just couldn’t take the South Indian spice, he admitted:P..anyway, there were a lot of non-Indians around who were staying at the hotel…and I guess I could’ve gone upstairs and grabbed a fork and spoon..but…I didn’t….I sat down, and i dug in. oh yea, and it was gooood. I called my mom immediately after, with my hands still sticky from samba..”guess what i just did, mom…oh yea, in public…” ….I remember pulling the phone away from my ear and finding an oily film on it where my hand had been.

The fact of the matter is, we don’t need forks and spoons. We always have our hands. Same with lovers..we don’t need them..for the same reason. Tee hee…

Who wants to borrow my phone now?

{post disclaimer: i am working on getting a life beyond writing, hopefully once i get it i’ll be too cool to write about it}

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i really don’t get why everyone at the canadian passport offices and indian consulate have something stuck up their asses. is it the same object? is it sharp? do they have it inserted daily or is it placed there for the whole working period, when they first get the job?
cause really, they don’t even proffer a smile, let alone any semblance of amiability…

yesterday, i walked in and the guy at the front info counter for the indian consulate didn’t even crack a smile. he just pointed in the direction of the other crazy man, who was yelling things in hindi and walking away from everyone mid-conversation..for some reason, this man decided to give me the time of day and talk to me, understandably saying things extra loud so he wouldn’t have to explain them again to the crowds of people surrounding him trying to grab his attention..

i recall visiting the canadian gov. offices in whitby last month to get my passport renewed..the info desk guy just looked at me sternly, as though expecting the worst from me before anything..maybe i look scared, yes i tend to have the look of a deer in the headlights but geeezzz at least be nice enough to accommodate my fear, and i think it’s a rightful fear considering i always feel like i’m about to get slapped on the palm by a nun with a thin reed stick..ARGH

today i went back to the indian consulate..i passed the man from yesterday, at the front desk..he recognized me, i am sure. i gave him a big perky smile and said, HOW ARE YOU?
and he said, no, go out. and i said, huh?
apparently, my tea wasn’t allowed in there. and they say tea is a leading indian export..he didn’t look at me when i re-entered a second later, empty-handed. ugh!

i swear, i felt like i was in the pages of a couple of books i’ve read..one, ‘trespassing’ (uzma aslam khan) , was based on Pakistan and had a scene of complete and utter disorganization over water shortages..where a character would spend the whole day in line waiting to collect a ration for water..and get to the front of the line only to be told the office is closed for the day, or that they are missing the TINIEST thing–which means they have to come back the next day…it’s a woman-in-waiting’s worst nightmare!
right now, in shantaram, the character is in a train..the rush for the train in this instance really takes the shape of Darwin’s survival of the fittest..it literally is every man for himself..it’s ruthless, as we all trample each other to get noticed and get what we’re all sure we deserve..
i felt that way today! there are few smiles in the room (which can fit max 151 people), and everyone stands in line, a little weary of what the main guy will say..he could pass us on to the visa/passport officers, or he could tell us something is missing..i tap my foot, while others avoid eye contact..finally, i get approval. he doesn’t smile at me..do i smell??

i sit down. i’m breathing fine, and so is everyone seated around me. like shantaram, this is when everyone relaxes and resumes their indian politeness. in the book, knees bump lightly and apologies are in abundance. the sikh man behind me lets me use his pen and offers me his thick envelope to write on (yea, that’s right, i didn’t fill out my forms completely!)

i get to the actual visa lady. she hates me. i just know it. i came forward when my number was called and she told me to wait. i wait and then she beckons me forward. she has a stapler in front of her and makes me walk to the back of the room to use the communal stapler. i bow my head in shame as i pass 100 people awaiting their doom. they all hear my boots clacking and wonder why i got sent to the back of the room, i return, and she does everything possible to sustain her exasperation with me..i forgot to put my signature. I FORGOT!!!!! i apologize, and try to show her how sincere i am. i REALLY wanted someone in that room today to accept me. i ask her if i can borrow her pen to sign my signature..

and so, i will return at 3pm to pick up my passport and visa..

i can’t wait till i have to renew my 1month visa in india, one month from now..
i’ll report back with just how kindly they treat me in the motherland..

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i hadn’t been to New York since i was 12, so as soon as my dad said that there’s a health and beauty show he had to check out, i jumped at the offer to accompany him..

a–because i haven’t been there in sooo long and i was smitten by the city when i was young
b–i really do enjoy long road trips–even 11hrs..and my dad would not have gone without me when it was so last minute..
c–haven’t spent time with my dad since i got here. needed to clean up that drift.

with a couple of hours notice, i was pretty much ready to go..

road trips are probably the one form of travel i find most appealing. i prefer buses and carpools over trains and planes, too. sometimes, if i feel like talking to people, i do…but most of the time, i sorta hole myself up with a book or just stare out the window at the scenery for however many hours we’re on the road. new york state is a feast for the eyes, eh. i was gluttonous, sometimes skidding off the road as my eyes were drawn to the levels and green. i was born to be a truck driver, but my parents won’t let me! grr..

i wasn’t driving the whole way.. i spent the whole 22hrs on the road (11hrs each way) writing in my head..aha..i was so scrambled when leaving that i left my laptop at home and didn’t bring ANY paper!!!!
i also got to listen to a hell of a lot of radio..which is fine by me..i love cbc radio!

and, of course, i came upon some sicck self-proclaimed lefty show as we left the city, which had this professor of middle eastern studies i’d never heard of before..Prof. Samer Shehata..i suggest all the SPHR kids start contacting him to do a talk, he was very convincing..

my poor dad, and, well, everyone who is associated with me..i’m such a show and teller..i write everything down and then i demand feedback and esp. criticism…he had to listen and respond to all my questions and comments on…everything..don’t worry, one day it will pay off and i will have a party to celebrate it…with a table for the guests of honour..

i also heard this story on dollar stores..now, as we know, my parents are in that industry..they are wholesale suppliers/importers/buyers of gift products and novelties for dollar and discount stores..
i was sure the dollar store consumer report probably came out because of the China fiascos..mind you, my dad just brought a motor bike back from china and i will probably learn how to drive it..will i die? not sure..will i choose the bike over the m3? not sure either..cause either could kill me. it’s freakanomics, baby.

now, when i heard the lead for the report, i was bracing myself on an anti-dollar store tirade..buuuut here y’go, check it out. my father, the dollar product king, agreed…and shut me up when i said i would never give up on dollar store products..http://www.wtopnews.com/index.php?nid=25&sid=1198450

yea so what was i doing in new york..lol..i don’t even know..we got there, ate in queens:) i really liked queens..really really liked it. it was very homely, exactly as i used to envision new york when i read and re-read the godfather..(the movie showed it well with the part..2? when vito first moved to NY)..i saw balconies, clothes strung outside..old men on bicycles getting nosy at construction sites..i guess these things are everywhere, but for some reason i expected this billboard-fanged monster, armed with traffic and skyscrapers…which is exactly what manhattan was at first glance..
so now i gotta go back, cause if that’s all there is to manhattan, something’s gotta be done.

new york didn’t feel so large when i was a kid. seriously, this time, i felt like a speck. really. i hate feeling like a speck. my motto used to be ‘i want to meet every single person in the world..twice.’……but you know, new york really dulls those high hopes. i can pretty much do that, here. but wow, that’s one huge city to tackle.

so i will hang out in queens when i go back there. which wil be very soon. Wicked, the musical, is playing in nyc. some people may remember my obsession with getting tickets last year..it is now revived..i will see this musical…
thinking of going down there sometime in october or november..with tan tina and amanda..if they support the idea. cough cough?:P amanda i wonder if u got this far..

oh yeah so i went to new york cause there was this health and beauty trade show at the javitz centre. apparently my dad plans on going every year and never goes to it cause shit comes up.

i thought it would be kinda cool to check out..umm..it was okay though..i mean, i think if i appreciated makeup and perfume, sure..the display cases were pretty inventive though..as they always are at trade shows..since i bloody grew up at them..

yeah so i ended up checking out two aisles and then i sat down and listened to different seminars on marketing and consumer needs in the health and beauty industry.. i learned about everything from 3d packaging to different abilities and needs in a soap or cleanser..to..probiotics..hehe..

it was actually very informative..i really think this 3d packaginng will pick up..there’s a great article about it in enroute magazine..though i’m not sure i like the magazine itself? about how..touch is a sensation unexplored by marketers..and our other senses are exhausted in terms of advertising..soooo now they’re going to exploit our sense of touch..YEEESSS…watch out y’all..

yea anyway i had a few flattering movie moments..one, where i was approached by a..freelance designer? while on the phone and handed a business card with the statement, ‘you’re beautiful, call me, we’ll work together’..hehe and i, in movie fashion, responded, ‘yes darling i’ll call you, we’ll definitely talk’…i don’t even mind if his stuff sucks, i’ll make a friend for my next trip down…

the second movie moment was straight out of a hindi film..complete with the indian guy! he was hot, i’ll admit..tall, dark, dreamy..in a suit..men in suits!!! they were everywhere..maybe he was a brown nick angel:P i was having a ball with him, glancing back and turning away mischievously as he stared, “his deep penetrating eyes drilling holes into my bosom”…oh, i’ve read too much smut in my time…he’d inch closer, i’d giggle, and then finally i just took out my phone and pretended to talk on it..yes, i run in fear when guys approach me. i really like to be the one to pass the glances.

i always feel like i have to be professional at trade shows..all the older men used to flirt with me when i was a kid going to my parents’ shows..they’d slip me their numbers when my parents were with clients..but i would play dumb and just change the subject. what was i going to do, smile coyly and twirl a ringlet in front of my mom? so they could relive their youth with me? i save that shit for schmooze nightclub on a lonely friday night..

k wow i’ve written a lot..and i’m hungry..s i’ll go to sleep..

btw we left early because the trade show was weak and we got what wanted from it…plus i was getting really stressed out about some work i needed to finish here..which lead to me sulking..and if i sulk, a storm is surely brewing..but it was cleared up on the road with a swift text message from abroad..:)

on a totally different note, i am SO SO SO SO pumped from all the messages and email i’ve received this week. i spent the whole 22hr ride fantasizing and formulating ideas..ahhh i feel results are not far..

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last night was green hills and a ball of red and orange fire accompanied by a guitar case filled with weapons and ammunition. i was meant to hide it with my young sidekick. oh, and we came upon a hot dog stand in the valleys. hey, you know what…i was in an enid blyton book! that’s it, all i needed to do was sit down, lay out one of my JERSEYS..open a tin of biscuits:P and eat..cause gosh, they love food in enid blyton books..
maybe tonight i’ll discover a fresh water spring near a waterfall in which i’ll bathe…
mmmmmarvelous.

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