The other day, I’m in the shower and notice there is a sad, thin square of soap and at first I think, nuts, but then I spot a bar just to my right.
It seems unusually large, but when I go to grab it it’s stuck to the tub. I give it a few yanks, before resorting to looking around the shower to see what I can use to pry this wad loose. I decide on thrusting a shampoo bottle up from an angle underneath the ivory bar. It took a few good whacks, but it finally came loose.
I’ve got some big mits but my hands were cramping trying to not drop the fvcking thing on my toes.
Where did this come from? What is it’s purpose? This suds for who?
This lump of curiousness brings new meaning to drop the soap. I mean, if this thing thuds off the porcelain, a new tub is surely going to join the reno cue.
If Unilever is for all 2000 parts, this bathtub centrepiece makes those parts squeemish. It doesn’t even fit in my underarms. I can’t hold it and wash my legs and toes, and it certainly doesn’t move with any ease across the nether regions.
I finally end up lathering it in my hands and giving my arms a break by pressing it in the soap holder.
While we are questioning what that thing in the tub is, there are 24 containers of stuff in the shower. There are 5 of us. What are the other 22 for?
I love you, honey, but it’s me or the oblong soap puck.
I’m just thinking of the ER wait times alone. I’ve got the early COVID scar showing what I can do with no sleep and a freshly bladed exacto knife.