I’ll never forget the day I met up with my friends Margaret and Tim in Paris. After Mags and I finished our degrees in Glasgow, we did a bit of travelling together. They started before me and I met them in Paris at our hotel, so they had been there one day longer than I.

First of all, when I arrived, I was horrified to find that our room was on the top (or at least second from the top) floor of the hotel (of course) and that there was no elevator (of course). Rather, there was a set of stairs so narrow and so steep and so spiral-y that by the time we got up there, I was sweaty, out of breath, and never wanted to leave again.

After a quick survey of the room, Margaret took a step toward me, her face serious.

“So, that door leads to the bathroom. It’s a bit – uh – different.”

I consider myself well versed in very strange and downright disgusting bathrooms, but I definitely wasn’t prepared to see what I saw when I opened the door.

“What the fu…where’s the rest of it?”

“I guess it’s a common thing here?” Mags shrugged.

It was a mini bathtub.

I can’t find a photo of a similar bathtub, so for the remainder of this post, it’s going to seem like I made this shit up, but I swear to you, it was like a normal sized bathtub, only cut in half.

“At least there’s a way to wash.” I sighed. Could be worse.

“Just be really careful when you go to squat/sit down in it. It’s slippery.”


Guys, if you can avoid it (clearly you can, because clearly I made this shit up), I recommend staying away from mini bathtubs. You go to sit and you slide with a “whoooops,” your bum hitting ice cold porcelain and scaring the shit out of you. Then, if you’re anything like me, the size of your bum blocks any water from really getting to the drain because the fucking bathtub is so small, so you spend your entire “bath” (because let’s not insult real baths by calling it a bath) trying not to overflow the bathtub.

So that was fun.

That was the week(ish) I learned that I don’t like miniature bathtubs.


P.S. I swear that damn bathtub existed.

P.P.S. If you can find me a photo of what I’m talking about and/or tell me a story of your own personal experience with a horrible mini bathtub, I will be a better friend to you.

P.P.P.S. Give me a break today. I’m tired.