Guilty pleasures

We all have them. One of my favorites actually contributes to my living cleanly, though. I like bubble baths. I like to fill the bathroom with lit candles, fill the tub with hot water topped with a great heap of foam, and lower myself into the bath for an hour or so.

It isn't because I like to luxuriate, though (pleasant though that may be). The candles are a mask, in case somebody comes along and sees the residual bubbles by the drain.

I like the bubbles. I sing the old jingle, "Mister Bubble in the tub'll/ Get you squeaky clean...." I splash about for a while. But mostly, I sculpt the foam around me. I'm particularly fond of turning myself into Santa Claus, and/or extend my mammaries an extra few cup sizes (and make them far perkier than they have been, of late). But I've made myself into a unicorn, built a spare cat at the edge of the bath, built handlebars and gone for imaginary bike rides, and made up countless other fantasies in foam.

I'm led to believe that this is immature, and therefore inappropriate for a woman of my advanced years (gad, but once one puts a half-century behind one, people make such assumptions about one's condition!).

What I would like to know is, am I the only one who likes the froth for the fun of it, or are there other supposed adults who, when they build a head of lather, do something other than simply hide beneath it?