In the summer of 2020, I was living in a beachfront condo in a large and mostly nondescript building in the heart of Chicago.
I had just gotten married, and was spending a few months away from my parents and family.
My condo was a big room, but I wasn’t really thinking about what to do with it, so I spent a lot of time in the bathtub.
In the middle of my day, a young man in the bathroom saw me and went up to me and said, “What are you doing in here?”
He didn’t say anything, but he seemed genuinely concerned that I wasn´t in the shower, and he asked if I had any plans.
I told him I was going to the beach for a day, and then I went to the bathroom to wash my hands and put my feet in the water, but then I thought, “I guess I just need to go in the tub.”
After I was done washing my hands, I realized that I had no intention of washing my feet.
I decided to get a towel and lay down on the floor and go to the bath, because that’s what I normally do.
The first thing I did was put on my towel, because I was afraid that I would lose some of the soap that I’d applied to my feet already.
After about 30 minutes in the hot water, I got a few splashes of water and then went to lie down in the chair.
As I was laying there, I noticed that I was having trouble breathing.
I went back to the sink, washed my hands with soap, and put on a towel.
By the time I got to the tub, I didn’t feel any better.
A few hours later, the doctor came in to check on me and I had to go to a hospital to have my lungs drained and tubes put in, but that was all fine.
It wasn’t until about two weeks later that I noticed my feet were starting to hurt.
The doctor diagnosed me with hypothermia and recommended that I get a bathtub, which I did.
Once in the room, the heat from the bath and the cold from the water caused my feet to get really hot, so it was a real challenge to get to the water.
During my first bath, I washed them off with warm water and a bucket of warm water.
After I got the water out of my feet, I put a towel around my feet and wrapped them up with a blanket.
I then placed a towel on top of my head and put the blanket over my head, but because my feet had started to hurt, I had a hard time getting to the toilet.
There were times when I was actually standing up and the water was coming down my face and into my mouth, and I was just trying to get it out of the way.
At the end of my first day in the house, I tried to clean the bathroom, but it was just so dirty and moldy that I just didn’t want to do it.
Luckily, I hadn’t done any laundry, so my parents brought me a bucket and a bowl of ice cold water, which they were sure I could use for the first few days.
For the next few days, I cleaned and dried my feet with the ice, and it was perfect.
When I finally got home and started putting on a robe, I just felt so proud of myself for getting my feet wet and getting rid of the water that I hadn´t done in a long time.
One of the first things I noticed was that the floor had a weird smell, like something that was being washed.
This is when I thought about my parents, who are very strict about washing their feet and have to be careful about the way they do it, but they have a great sense of humor.
Later that week, I started wearing a robe for a few hours, which was my first time doing anything outside of my home.
Soon after, my feet started to get even warmer, and by the time the next day came around, I felt completely comfortable with my feet covered.
On my next trip, I went into the bath with my new bath robe.
Since I had already worn a robe on my last trip, it was obvious that I should try it again.
While I was in the living room, I saw a man in a bathrobe walking down the hallway, and thought, “Oh yeah, this is my bathroom now.”
When he walked down the hall, I immediately realized that this was the bathroom he was in, and that I could just jump in and have a shower.
So I grabbed my robe and went down the stairs, and went to bed at 6 a.m.
I woke up at 9 a.ms. on my second trip to the living area