Hot tub!

There were a lot of things we liked about our apartment when we first saw it.  It was only when the broker took us to the gym and “swimming pool” level, and we realized how hot they were keeping the water that I was like, "Where do we sign?".  Let’s admit it, it’s a giant hot tub; not much actual swimming going on here.

Shortly after we moved in, a mammoth heat wave struck and the hot tub’s heat got turned down, I guess so residents could "cool off in the pool". I didn’t care that it was 110 degrees out...my bare bones minimum soaking temperature is still 103 degrees. Anything less than 100 degrees and I get a chill, which causes an autonomic complaining mechanism to kick in.   

Well finally, it looks like autumn is here in the southern hemisphere, and the building manager cranked the heat up again.  We go down most evenings and float in circle, propelled by a powerful underwater jet that is meant to be used for swimming in place. I tried that for a while but floating around in a circle talking about everything and nothing is a lot more fun. And easier. 

We don't consistently make it to the gym together, or put on fancy dress up clothes and stay out dining-n-dancing all night or get invited to society parties. But we do like to put on our swimsuits, robes and flip flops, grab my pink kickboard, go downstairs and call it a date.  I don't think the other tenants like it when leave big drippy puddles in the elevator though. Snobs.  

One time, Tom was coming home from work and got in an elevator with a few other tenants. One of the guys said to the other guy, "Remember that chap who got in the elevator in his bathrobe-how funny was that!" and they both laughed.  I just can see Tom catatonically staring at the LED display as it painfully, slowly revealed each floor.

Back in 2006, when Tom and I first started dating and had separate houses, I had a hot tub that I would constantly try to goad him into. One day the water level fell below the temperature control sensor, so the heating element had been running non-stop.  I remember him saying things like, “There’s no way this is a safe temperature to be in. Are you sure it’s okay?” and “Wow. Um. This is really hot.” Which, of course, my response was, “Ahshushupyabigbaby!” , followed by some playful splashing. Although even I thought it was a little on the hot side. We eventually realized the mechanical issue and got out. It was 109 degrees.  In 1979, the Consumer Products Safety Commission (CSPC) mandated that Underwriters Laboratory put a governor on all hot tubs that cap their temperature at 104 degrees.  Apparently anything over 106 degrees causes heat stroke. Wah.

A few years later, when I pounced on him and landed him in a rib brace,  or forgot to tell him where we were staying at in Delhi that resulted in him getting mugged, I wondered if Tom looked back on that time, that poignant day before we were married, when I tried to boil him alive.  Probably.