Jonny Doesn’t Want to Take a Bath
For every kid who ever said no,
and every grown-up who said “just one toe.”
Text © 2026 Jon Tiemann.
Jonny Doesn’t Want to Take a Bath
A story in rhyme by Jon Tiemann
This is Jonny. He’s three,
and he’s mighty and small.
He loves trucks, he loves mud,
he loves puddles and all.
But the word he loves best
is the loudest one: NO!
“It’s bath time, my Jonny!”
calls Mom down the hall.
But there isn’t a Jonny.
No Jonny at all.
He’s under the table
with Eleanor the cat,
who hates baths as well.
(She’s quite firm about that.)
“But the water’s too wet!
And the drain has got teeth!
It will nibble my toes
from the bubbles beneath!
“And my trucks need me, Mom!”
Eleanor flicks her tail
and she nods at each word.
Jonny doesn’t want a bath.
Not a drop. Not a third.
So Mom scoops him up
and she carries him down.
Jonny kicks. Jonny wiggles.
He wears his best frown.
“Just one toe,” Jonny says.
“Just to check. Just to see…”
SPLASH!
He doesn’t want a bath, no, not one little bit…
that is, of course, until he gets in it!
There are bubbles for beards,
there’s a boat with a sail,
there’s a duck going quack
with a wiggly tail.
“Time to get out now!”
But Jonny knows what to say:
“NO! Five more minutes!
I want to STAY!”
Now Jonny is eight,
and he’s been at the creek.
He’s got mud on his elbows
and mud on his cheek.
“Baths are for babies!”
he says with a frown,
and he drips muddy footprints
the whole hallway down.
But a bath that goes FIZZ
with a comic to read…
isn’t babyish. No.
It’s exactly his speed.
Once he gets in it.
Now Jonny is thirteen.
“I’ll shower tomorrow.”
His sister holds her nose
in terrible sorrow.
“You smell like a sock
that was left in a shoe!”
“I do not!” (But he does.
And he knows that it’s true.)
Then he gets in. And he sings!
Oh, how Jonny sings!
With a shampoo-bottle mic,
he’s the king of all kings.
He sings LOUD and he sings long
till the hot water’s gone.
And his sister keeps knocking
on, and on, and on.
Now Jonny’s eighteen,
and he’s camping out deep
in the woods, where he hikes
and he fishes and sleeps.
“Who needs a shower?”
he says with a grin.
And the flies all agree.
(They have all moved in.)
Then he’s home, and the shower
is steamy and hot,
and he stays in so long
that the mirror forgot
what his face looks like
under the fog and the steam.
“Ahhh,” says Jonny.
“This shower’s a dream.”
Now Jonny’s grown up,
with a job and a tie,
and a tub like a shoebox.
(A small one. Oh my.)
He’s too tired to try
and too sleepy to scrub.
“Too tired,” he yawns.
“I’ll skip the tub.”
But his knees go up high
and his phone goes face-down,
and a candle glows soft
in his small part of town.
“Okay,” Jonny sighs
as he sinks in a bit.
“This is nice.” (And it is,
once he gets in it.)
He has run a whole marathon,
twenty-six miles!
So his coach brings him ice
with the biggest of smiles.
“An ice bath will help!”
“No,” says Jonny. “No way.
Absolutely, completely,
NOT today.”
He gets in. BRRRR!
How he shivers and shakes!
How his teeth chatter-clatter!
How his nose aches!
He still doesn’t want it,
not even a bit.
Some baths you don’t love,
even once you get in it.
Now Jonny’s a dad
with a girl of his own.
Her name is Rosie.
She’s three. (Look how she’s grown!)
“Bath time, Rosie!”
But she’s under the table. Oh my!
“I don’t WANT a bath!”
And Jonny knows why.
So he scoops her right up
and he carries her down.
Rosie kicks. Rosie wiggles.
She wears her best frown.
“Just one toe,” Jonny says.
“Just to check. Just to see…”
SPLASH! Now everyone’s wet,
and the floor is a lake!
She doesn’t want a bath, no, not one little bit…
that is, of course, until she gets in it!
“Five more minutes!”
(Make that ten, for her sake.)
Much later, Grandpa
and Grandma sit
in their comfy old chair,
and they grumble a bit.
“Too hot! Too cold!
Too much fuss!
Baths are for children.
Not for us!”
But they slip off their slippers
and dip in their feet,
and they sigh a big “Ahhh.”
Oh, the water’s a treat!
“Five more minutes,” says Grandpa.
Says Grandma, “Or ten.”
(Some things never change,
not now and not then.)
Goodnight to the tub,
and goodnight to the duck.
Goodnight to the bubbles.
Goodnight, and good luck.
We’ll see you tomorrow
at bath time again.
Goodnight, little Jonny.
And that is
THE END.
Jonny is three, and he does not want to take a bath. The water is too wet. The drain will eat his toes. His trucks need him.
But something happens when Jonny gets in, and it keeps happening at eight, at thirteen, at eighteen, and all the way to the day he hears his own little girl say “I don’t WANT a bath!”
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