Today, I was taking a shower, thinking of what I was going to blog about . . . and I was stuck.
I do some of my best thinking in the shower. The thinking is so good that I have told hubbie on more than one occasion – the shower stall is for thinking, not a quickie when Mr. Johnson wakes up all dressed up and no one to play with. Okay, that last sentence was a little vague. Ah, perfect.
Anyway, I was thinking, "How will I delight my blog-reading audience today?" I thought about writing a dirty limerick, but then I would have to research how many syllables each line needs to be, look for the rhyming scheme, then think of cute dirty words, but at least the first line writes itself, "There was an old man from Nantucket." But what rhymes with Nantucket? Too difficult. Not original enough. Scrap that plan.
Then, I looked into my soap dish. I have three bars of soap in my soap dish – two of mine and one of my husband's. Okay, it is a pretty big soap dish, but that is not the remarkable part. The remarkable part is that I have two kinds of soap, not because one is almost gone and I don't want to be in the shower with just hubbie's soap option. I have two bars of soap in the soap dish because I have options on what soap to use, based on my feelings at the time.
If I go under the sink of my bathroom, I probably have twenty or so bars of soap for myself. For myself. And of those twenty bars, I would guess that I have ten different kinds of soap. I have French Milled soap, glycerin soap, organic soap, Scottish soaps, fruit-y soaps, vegetable soaps, soaps made from milk and other artisan soaps.
Before I was married, my husband would use Irish Spring. I told him that if we were to marry, he would have to abandon Irish Spring (and soap-on-a-rope, a bastardization of soaps, really). He, of course, asked, "If I give up soap, is that one thing you won't do in the bedroom going to be on the table?" Of course not, was my response.
So I buy nice soaps for him as well. He really don't care one way or the other (I do other things in the bedroom that keeps Irish Spring out of our home), but I like the smell of good soap on him.
Some people learn about wine and enjoy it by the glass; I am always in search of a good soap. Call it my dirty little secret.