Bathing Beauty

I just emerged from one of my marathon bubble baths--2.5 hours, this one was, my pretties. I'm a champion bubble bather.

Anyone who knows me knows that when I'm drunk, I tend to ask friends if I can use their tub. Sometimes I don't ask--I just sneak off and take a bubbly-scented soak and pop out an hour later, relaxed and smelling of Pearberry or Lever 2000.

Can I be honest, kids? Sometimes I'm not even really that drunk, but even I know how ridiculous it is for an adult woman to bathe in strangers' tubs. The drinking gives me an excuse, but sometimes I really just want a bath.

Christmas is prime time for a bubble bath aficionado such as myself. I get all sorts of smelly good things, candles and books.

This year, JennyJenny8675309 got me a bottle of whiskey for Christmas, which explains why I spent extra long in the bath this evening: I like to combine all of my favorite activities with a bath, a book and a bottle.

(She was worried I wouldn't like it, my pretties. To which I can only say, "Pshaw, right, JennyJenny. Sometimes I feel like you don't even know me.")

I needed the bath and the bourbon today, though, because I hit it really hard at the gym. Crunches, crunches, always the damn crunches. I probably won't be able to eat solid food for a week, but that's my own fault because, over the holiday, the only things I crunched were the ice cubes from my rocks glass.

Although, Adelka Ann saved me with an impromptu aerobics video, courtesy of the fine folks at Perdue Chicken and their generous giveaways.

I was about to head out for a run when Adelka Ann said, "You hate running."

"I know. But I've been such a lump. I've got to do something." I detest running, kids. I really do. My body was not meant to run. My body was meant to tube down rivers and lie in hammocks and such.

"Well, we could do some aerobics," Adelka Ann offered.

While she astutely followed all of Kathy Smith's moves to "lunge" and "kick" and "march it out" 123Valerie flailed around and generally made an aerobic ass of herself. The Perdue folks might be tickled to know I actually looked like a chicken running around with its head cut off. But, I bet I burned several hundred calories.

Speaking of burning several hundred, my parents, in their infinite generosity, gave me--among too many other things--a pair of diamond hoopy earrings. They're beautiful, but even before the whole movie business, I wasn't too keen on diamonds for humanitarian reasons. Best to stick with healing crystals, eh Allison--not blood-soaked stones that bear the imprint of innocent childrens' souls.

I know diamonds are supposed to be a girl's best friend, but, truthfully, I'd prefer the dog. I decided long ago that if, if, if I ever get married, I don't want the traditional diamond ring. I also want to have a pig roast and kegs for the reception, but my fairytale wedding planning is for another time.

What do you think I should do? Send them back to my folks with my sincerest gratitude? Just hang on to them and keep my mouth shut? I'm torn, my pretties.

I just need to go take a bath and clear my head.

In the Comments section, tell me what you think I should do with the earrings. I will come over to christen the tub of whoever has the best advice.