Call the fire brigade

I can’t do it I squeal as I look up into Mr H’s frowning face, my hiccupped laugh threatening to turn into a wail of despair.

I'm stuck. Not going anywhere. Get me a pillow…

There must be a way he says as I sit there shivering…

We’ve tried everything I mutter. I am getting tired. Give me a minute and I’ll try again.

Try turning round Mr H suggests…

I would then I could pull myself up onto my knees but I don’t have the room to turn in here.  I tap the metal white sides which hold me prisoner.

Why did I suggest this I weakly grumble as I grab hold of the taps and try once again to heave my, now almost dry body up…

But I only manage a few inches before my feet once again slide away from me despite Mr H attempting to hold them still with his glue like grip…

I don’t know what else to suggest he says as he paces back and forwards wringing his hands…

Call the fire brigade I say trying hard not to laugh knowing a spurt of mirth will quickly turn into tears. Can you imagine it we giggle; 

dring dring, fire brigade please

I am a naked lady stuck in the bath. I can’t stand to get out. My legs and arms are floppily fatigued...

What about putting your trainers on?

It’s worth a go I say as, like a fire hose, I spray clean water around my naked body. Trying to remove any soapy residue to stop my feet from slithering and slipping like I am trying to stand on an ice skating rink despite the bath mat…

I huff and puff as I dry my feet and ram my blue and white trainers on.

Deep breath, another snigger, then heave ho. My arms shake.My right leg quivers as my left leg goes uselessly rigid. Mr H puts all his weight onto my feet to stop them running anywhere.

I am back on my bath seat. Forty minutes after I emptied the bath water, I am out. Exhausted.

Bad idea I mutter to myself.

Never again.