Barred Soap

It's impossible to escape the truth: I have dropped the soap in the shower. Two bars in a row have been lost to the unnerving undergrowth of the shower floor.

What drives me crazy is that I avoided bar soap for years, and then splurged on some fancy stuff. It was pear-scented, which means it was particularly delectable to my happy little nose. I only used about half of the bar when it fell rather pathetically onto the shower floor last night, causing immediate frustration. But luckily I'd finished washing, so... you know. I was done. But then, so was the bar of soap.

But this incident was was a much calmer version than that of a few weeks ago, in which a lavender bar went flying out of my hand. I'd only washed an arm so far, so I rather delicately retrieved the stuff, washed it off, and (feeling a little dirty) tried for the other arm. The soap, not to be thwarted, leaped out of my hand again, bounced off the wall, and scooted around the shower stall.

I was not calm. In a fit of fury and yet-unwashed rage, I stomped the soap into the shower drain, leaving chunks of flowery-smelling lye around the floor (my bathing flip flops had never been cleaner).

But my rage eventually subsided, as all things do. I have politely rejected bar soap from my life, and tonight I shall return to the welcoming arms of liquid shower gel.