As a kid, I knew I’d been thoroughly punished after being forced to take a bite out of the Ivory soap bar for lying or some such similar act. It is a taste that doesn’t leave your mouth for a long while – and Ivory dish soap — if they still make it — is even worse.
Two days ago, as I was preparing to get in the shower, I got out a new bar of Ivory soap. I had unwrapped it and set it on the sink while I do other stuff.
Promptly – and as I’ve found happening more often – I forgot the bar of soap and proceeded to take a shower. Lucky for me I still had the sliver of the old bar in the shower still.
Following my shower, I toweled off and got dressed. Knowing it was on the counter, I wasn’t too worried because I figured it would still be there when I used the bathroom later.
It was slightly after noon when nature called and I finally walked back into the bathroom. That’ when I found the wrapper to the soap on which the soap had been sitting – sans the soap now.
Not to worry – I looked in the shower knowing that I sometimes do things that I’ve completely forgotten about later. But there was no Ivory soap bar where it should have been.
“Hmm,” I naturally questioned, “What the hell could I’ve done with it?”
That began the search as I back tracked my movements from throughout the morning. I mean I checked everywhere including the refrigerator and the dishwasher.
Still – no soap bar. I even resorted to digging through the kitchen trash and the garbage can in our garage, without positive result.
Like other things – my favorite pen included – I had to let it go and tell myself it had dropped into that ‘black hole,’ where objects disappear only to reappear at some point later. If I don’t play this little trick on my mind – I’d go bat-shit crazy.
(By the way – who decided bat-shit was the craziest shit? Anyone ever have to re-dig a used outhouse? Okay, I’m off topic…)
Forty-eight hour later, I am no longer concerned about the bar of soap. We have more in the hallway closet and life goes on.
That’s when I look outside and see our newest dog, Buddy, blowing bubbles out his ass. Upon closer investigation I can see his turds — filled with flecks of white, half-digested soap.
And while I feel bad for Buddy and his indigestion problem, I must admit that I am terribly relived that I really am not losing my mind and becoming frightfully forgetful. But then again, I concluded that I ought to write this all down before it slipped my mind.