Alice

Alice, where are you going?
"Upstairs to take a bath."
Alice, with legs like toothpicks and
a neck like a gira-a-a-a-a-a-a-afe.
Alice, into the bathtub,
pulled out the plug and then.
OH MY Goodness,
OH MY SOUL,
there goes Alice down that hole.
Alice, where are you going?
Glub, Glub, Glub.



This is the poem my Grandma Evy recited to me while I was taking a bath, followed by the statement, "Well, Lauren, you're pretty skinny too!"

Being a 5-year-old with a very industrious imagination, I was quite alarmed. No, terrified. Horrified. Frantic! I ran hysterically from the bathroom.

For a long time, I refused to even be in the bathroom while the tub was draining. Surely it would maliciously suck me down from across the room. I imagined myself grasping desperately at the side of the tub as the unstoppable vacuum force dragged me into the abyss.

By the time I was 7, I still felt a little uneasy.  I could handle a draining tub as long as I wasn't in it.

Even on the swim team in high school I still had a habit of swimming faster over the drains when I was racing.