Thursday, December 28, 2006
My mum bought a large pack of lavender scented soap bars for me.
Yes, I still use soap bars. In fact, I absolutely dig them. Seriously. Soap bars are just like roll-on deodorant: nobody wants to share them. I absolutely hate sharing anything, hence, that rules shower foams out. A shared soap-bar would just be too gross. Imagine, you could be rubbing your groin with the very face of the soap your mum or sis just wiped their armpits with. Or even worse, their nether regions.
Having explained my passion for alkaline fat bars, I would like to state my distaste for smelling like an AirWick, or in layman terms, smelling of lavender.
Come on, I'm a man. I should smell manly, husky, sweaty even, but definitely not like a flower!
My Mum saw my expression when I first laid eyes on that unholy package. It was nothing short of a grimace.
"Is anything wrong?"
Yes, a million and one. Probably starting with the trivial matter of gay-smelling soap.
"No Mum, nothing's wrong. Just appreciating the soap you got for me. Thanks Mum, you're one of the greatest Mums I've ever got."
She chuckled, but paused after a while. She must have landed mentally on my second sentence.
Sorry Dad, I didn't mean to get you into trouble.
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