Why Bathing Needs to Be Its Own Reward

When I was a little kid I was apparently gross, because I hated taking baths. My parents once tried to encourage me to look forward to bath time by buying me this big, egg-shaped bar of soap that had a toy dinosaur hidden in the hollow inside. The idea was that I would from then on get really excited to take a bath because each bath brought me one step closer to a new dinosaur toy.

Things didn't quite work out that way though. My parents had clearly underestimated the magnitude of my passion for dinosaurs. Instead of patiently waiting through multiple baths for my toy, I instead opted to take one long bath, working that soapy egg shell down until the dinosaur was free. I emerged from the tub hours later, boiled pink, hair matted, skin shriveled, covered in a thin film of soap residue that I hadn't bothered to wash off.

You see that face up there? That's what triumph looks like. Slimy, wrinkled triumph.