Friday, July 10, 2009
Hello. This is a picture of my soap.
When my soap gets used up to the point when it is nothing more than a thin slip that no longer supplies suds no matter how vigorously I rub-a-dub-dub it, I do not throw it away. Instead, I get a new bar of soap and, after cleansing and rinsing myself, I get the husky new bar good and sudsy again, but only in order to glue the frail old soap fragment to the top of it.
I carefully rinse the old/new soap-bar conglomerate, making sure the suds between the two entities remain intact in order to adhere them together. Then I put the bar in the recessed soap dish for 24 hours of drying time, which will hopefully permanently fuse the bars together in time for my next shower.
After two or three showers, all evidence that the soap was once two parts is gone. Hence, by this method, not only do I eliminate waste, but soap becomes a pleasant continuum in my life, a constant commodity that waxes and wanes but is never subject to absolute end. Simple procedures such as this relinquish me of sin and render me holy in lieu of traditional religious practices.
That is all.