Every room in the house has a screen in it now. The kitchen has one on the fridge. The living room has the obvious one. The bedroom has one on the nightstand, face down, which is the same as face up.
The bathroom is the exception, and not by design. It is the one room where a phone is a liability. Steam, water, a hard floor, a hard edge on the tub. So it stays outside, on the bed, on the counter, and for twenty minutes the room is what rooms used to be.
A door that locks
The bathroom is also the only room in a house with a lock nobody questions. A locked bedroom door is a statement. A locked office door is a meeting. A locked bathroom door is a bath.
That lock is doing more work than it used to. It is not privacy from the people in the house. It is privacy from everything else — the thing in your pocket that knows what you looked at on Tuesday and has an opinion about what you should look at now.
Twenty minutes of hot water is not a wellness practice. It is a room with a door.
Nothing is being optimised
There is no version of a bath that gets better with data. No streak. No score. Nothing to review afterwards, nothing to share, no improvement curve. You cannot get good at it.
This is the entire argument. In a house where every other surface is measuring something, one room measures nothing. Run it hot. Add the oil. Stay until the water turns.