The "paradise" began to smell less like a spa and more like a public pool that had seen better days. Greg spent his Saturdays hunched over the water like a mad scientist, clutching test strips and bottles of pH-Down.
One Tuesday, Greg looked out the window. The Hydro-Zen sat cold and dark, covered in a fine layer of pollen and bird droppings. He realized he hadn't been in it for four months. It wasn't a portal to paradise anymore; it was a 400-gallon monument to his own hubris. why not to buy a hot tub
The novelty had evaporated. The kids were bored of it. Sarah didn't want to ruin her hair. Greg was tired of the ritual: the freezing dash from the back door to the tub, the wet footprints on the hardwood, and the constant battle against the local raccoon who viewed the insulated cover as a very warm, very expensive bed. The "paradise" began to smell less like a
He checked the "Free to a Good Home" listings on Facebook Marketplace. He found twelve other Hydro-Zens just like his. The Hydro-Zen sat cold and dark, covered in
"Should've just bought a nice bathtub," Greg whispered, as he went back to balancing the pH one last time.
The electric bill arrived, and Greg had to sit down. The Hydro-Zen 5000 was essentially a giant tea kettle that never turned off. It cost more to heat the tub than it did to feed their youngest child. Between the electricity, the specialized filters, and the "Shock" treatments, Greg calculated that every soak was costing them roughly $42.00 per person.
"Think of the stress melting away," Greg told his wife, Sarah, as he signed the installment plan. "Think of the winter nights under the stars."