This Old New House.

I woke up around nine on Thanksgiving morning and, but for the clink clink clink of the fan and my dog licking her butt, the house was painfully silent. Nothing was as it should be. I made myself a cup of coffee, grabbed my … Continue reading

Dating When You’re Almost Dead.

College. Sigh. When dating was simple, because we were wasted and didn’t care about stupid adult stuff. With all the time in the world, it wasn’t a big deal to spend a few months making out with a frat guy who collects beer … Continue reading

Soap

Despite the fact that my husband told me on our first date (to my face) that my house smelled like Pet Smart, he was still somehow under the impression on our wedding day that he was marrying some sort of together, with-it, domestic goddess.

I played along for the first part of our marriage and then, like we do, I began showing him glimpses of the real me – the disastrous, disorganized, scatterbrain. Then, one day, I decided to put it all out there except for the farts and was like fuck it let’s eat some Taco Bell and leave the wrappers on the counter and lay around all day, yes?

It’s a good thing he loves me so much, because my disorganized ways are his nails on a chalkboard.

I’m Donna Reed’s worst nightmare.

Try as I might, I struggle to keep things in order most of the time, something I blame on my raging case of ADD. The good news is that it’s not a raging case of crabs. The bad news is that there are many days I find ordinary things impossible.

Like, forgetting to replace the toilet paper, leaving our asses to bare the brunt with Bounty.

Or, forgetting to buy toothpaste before we run out, leaving us to strangle the tube every morning like it’s Rick Perry, determined to get one last glob out.

Or, like buying soap.

(Do you guys know how much more awesome you would smell simply by replacing your bar-soap with shampoo?)

Last week, I went to the grocery store three times.

Last week, I forgot to buy soap three times.

On Friday morning, as my husband was showering for work, I heard a faint, “Jesus. Ugh!” come from the bathroom.

I knew it had to be one of three things, a roach, cat-hairball puke, or dog pee.

I stuck a hanger in the door to jimmy the lock, mostly because I resent the fact that, if I locked the door, I’d have two children bashing their heads up against it repeatedly and screaming at the top of their lungs in under a minute.

But, also because I wanted to see what was up.

Me: What happened, babe?

Him: I was trying to find something to wash my body with, since you haven’t bought soap, so I grabbed your body wash.

Me: Yeah…and?

Him: AND…I happened to look at the back of the bottle for once, as I was lathering, only to discover that it isn’t even soap. It’s…it’s…vaginal wash.

Me: YEAH…and? It’s not like it’s made from actual vaginas or like it’s vaginally scented or anything. It’s just soap for sensitive areas. Is someone a little jealous there’s no flower-scented penis wash on the market? 

Him: Can you just buy some soap today? PLEASE.

Me: By the way, Biolage makes you smell FABULOUS and leaves your skin shiny, frizz-free, and totally manageable. WHICH, I would have told you had you’d asked.

***

After I picked myself up off the floor from laughing so hard, I thought it would be extremely beneficial to provide you guys with a visual to help you better understand.

So, without further adieu, I present to you….

Vagina-Soap Gate
(reenacted by yours truly.)

Email subscribers: click here to view the video.