I’ve loved taking hot baths for as long as I remember, and they’ve long served multiple purposes in my life. As a lifelong Minnesotan, I have a well-honed appreciation for warmth. As a former competitive gymnast, my muscles slackened and relaxed as they slurped up the moist heat. And the bathtub’s always been my favorite place to read. As a young teenager, one of my favorite Sunday afternoon rituals was to take a bath with a book—usually a Harlequin Presents category romance. I’d lock the door, fill the bathtub with too-hot water, and carefully select my bubble bath from the row of colorful plastic bottles lining the toilet tank. I’d read until my skin was shriveled like a prune—or until one of my younger sisters picked the lock with a bobby pin. When I was a slightly older teenager, I got sick. Suddenly it hurt to eat, and my joints ached all the time, even though gymnastics season was over. I lost weight—a lot of weight. Family and friends kept me stocked with books durin...
READ. REVIEW. REPEAT.