I came home to the split-level house I shared with friends, looking forward to a nice soak in our private, backyard hot tub. it was one of the perks of suffering the irony of living in a split-level. When I got downstairs and out into the yard, the hot tub wasn't in the back right corner where it had always been. I scanned the yard, and finally saw something under the deck. There was a new hot tub, with my roommate in it.

"Hey, we got a new tub," I stated, obviously.

"Yeah, the landlord put it in; she thought we'd like it."

As I approached the tub, I could see that it was part of a much larger system that now had grown to cover the back yard. It wasn't just a hot tub. It was a series of hot tubs nestled in an area under cover, flanked by interlocking large swimming pools. Each pool had an eternity edge, so it looked like it didn't end. There were many good looking people in our backyard, quietly enjoying the scene. I suddenly felt a little fat to do my usual naked hot tub after work.

I tested the temperature of the tubs, but they were not very warm. I wanted HOT water. My roommate suggested I go to the interior tubs.

As I re-entered the house, I found myself in a tiered dinner restaurant. There were tables as well as glass countertops running the length of the room. To the left, beyond the dining room, were a bar and a dance floor. It was all very ski-resort-basement posh, lots of shine and lights. It was clearly an expensive place. An extravaganza.

I just wanted my hot soak.

I went back to the stairway landing. Instead of turning left and going back to the front door, I went through a cedar door directly in front of me. The room I entered was largely taken up by a hot pool about twenty feet square. I found a corner and undressed.

By the time I was ready to get into the pool, it was quite crowded with people who clearly had no knowledge of clothing optional etiquette, much less consideration for those around them. They hogged the pool by lying about on floating air mattresses, drunk and chatty.

Where the hell was my quiet soak?!

Then I saw the doors. Individual tiny tubs in little sauna-like rooms. Heaven. I settled into a tub. The hot water opened my pores and I moaned. Finally.

A Korean woman knocked and came in. "You want French scrub?" she asked. (I've never heard of anything called a French scrub, but in my dream I knew it was about her scrubbing me down, exfoliating me vigorously, turning me into a bowl of satisfied jelly.)

Seeing her loofahs, I said, "Yes!" She moved to scrub me, but then I remembered that I would have to probably pay for the service and asked, "but how much is it?"

"Twenny-fie."

"Okay, I'd love a French scrub. Do you take credit cards?"

She didn't. No scrub for me. I soaked a while, but had to leave when it was clear that the cleaning ladies weren't going to wait for me to be done soaking before they cleaned my little room. Sigh.

On the way out I found a really nice white helmet with cool art painted on it. No one claimed it, so I carried it out with me.

I got dressed, picked up my riding gear, and went out to the now-empty dining room. The owner was bemoaning that now she owned the most expensive place on the island, and people just didn't know that she had to charge that much in order to provide such a complete sensory experience. She wouldn't have used a term like "sensory experience", but that's what she meant. I indicated sympathy while thinking "what a whiner".

Then I contemplated moving out. I needed my quiet place again.