Cue Elton John’s “Saturday, saaaaturday, saaturday, saturday, saturday, saturday, saturday, saturday night’s alright!” Not only is this the most coveted day of the week but it is also code talk to those in the inner circle. Everyone knows (or should know) that scoring some Saturday night is getting some great SEX. Not just any great sex, but the kind of sex reserved for those elite few who can pick up a hot guy at a gas station and proceed to rock his world. You know what I’m saying? So, after a long journey to and from the motherland, I was envisioning the best kind of Saturday night with “the man” back at home. Only it wasn’t at our home but at my parent’s house. With mom and dad out of town we were left to grandpa sit. We eagerly agreed knowing that the whirlpool jetted bathtub might be a place for some exciting foreplay. Now, being virgins in the operations of the jet bathtub, we were unaware that there are certain things that should not happen. Let me break those down for you,
- Never, turn on the jets before there is enough water to cover them. (This makes a horrible sound that might, in fact, wake up the sleeping grandpa directly below)
- If bubblebath is going to be used, only put in 1/100th of what you normally would.
I can honestly say that I have never seen so many bubbles in my whole life. Remember when you saw that episode of the Brady Bunch and the bubbles were coming out of the washing machine and Alice was freaking out because they were covering the floor? Well, multiply that by 50. “The Man” and I had to get out on several occasions (covered in a full body suit of white) for fear of bubble asphyxiation. Large arm-filled scoops of the white meringue had to be relocated to the shower. Slippery trails, similar to what is left by a slug, were all over the floor. We eventually decided to shut off the jets, get out, and start our Saturday night. Foreplay is overrated.