BATHMATS



LUV - My mind does a bogle every time I think of the injuries myself would have inflicted upon myself if it weren’t for my bathmat. Bathmats are like ablutionary seatbelts.

Let me just say at this point that I’m not 97 years old and prone to falls. But holy porcelain, some baths are slippery shitz.

My current shower sits above a bath of such fiendishly unfrictious construction that, without my trusty bathmat - Jason - I would almost certainly do a mid-air backflip on a morningly basis.

In the process I would flail and grasp foolishly for the shower curtain, only to tear its flimsy nylon body from the rail and land on the edge of the bath ribs-first. Ribs-first!

I would then drop to the floor, possibly knocking my head against the toilet on the way down. I would lie naked, broken and hellishly late for work. I would weep and, depending on how severely my movements were restricted and how browned off I was feeling, I would remain there until the New York Fire Department burst in - they’re on holiday in London - to gaze pitifully at me as I lie there watching television (I would get a bit bored so would probably move some form of entertainment to the bathroom).

No man should have to meet the New York Fire Department that way. There are few kinds of mats that could prevent such an undignified spectacle. The bathmat is one of them, and thusly earns my luv.
- Stuart Waterman


HAT - Now, I’m all for not falling over in the bath, but were I a young woman who’d gone home with a young gentleman new to my acquaintance, and was now in the bathroom “slipping into something more BRRRAP” (or whatever it is young people do), if I spied some ASSISTIVE BATHTIME TECHNOLOGY, I’d be out of there like a shot — because naturally I’d assume that this was actually the home of a lovely old lady whom the young gentleman had killed and stuffed in the freezer.


There’s also something creepy about the texture of other people’s bathmats.


No matter how nice the person to whom the bathmat belongs, somehow it’s as though all the bacteria, scabs, dirt and character flaws have sloughed off them and congealed on the rough spongy mat, and I’m now absorbing them through the underside of my toes. Huggawagaahhh. The very idea gives my heebie-jeebies the heebie-jeebies.

On balance, I’d much rather face the New York Fire Department *goes all thoughtful*.
- Robyn Wilder