To recap the scene: foam bubbles flying everywhere, jets hissing, Thomas yelling, and me laughing hysterically. Thomas leapt across the room in a vain attempt to stop the madness. I was very helpful, reminding him to be careful on the slick tile floor. He was not very appreciative of my concern for his safety. We had to accept that we could not fix this nightmare on our own, no matter how hard we tried, or how many towels we used.
Remember, we were already on best behavior because this hotel was so fabulous and so out of our league, so calling downstairs was not tops on our list. After a very intense thirty seconds, the jets turned themselves off again. Relieved, we finished getting ready, grabbed our coats, and headed for the door.
HHHHHIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSS! As Thomas opened the door, the jets went off again. I kid you not. I cannot make this stuff up. More shrieking (Thomas), laughing (me) and running around trying to scoop up bubbles and throw into sinks/shower (both of us) followed… for thirty seconds. The jets shut themselves off again. Uncool or not, we decided this problem was bigger and more complicated than we could handle. Pride in our hands, we informed the concierge that we had been outsmarted by our bathtub. She was very nice, and mostly successful in hiding her giggles. She assured us the problem would be taken care of and apologized for the inconvenience. (I know, it was a classy place!)
Upon returning that evening, the bathtub had been fixed. And, in the end, I did have a relaxing bath!