Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Unlike Constructing New Stairs to the Attic, This New Quasi-Profession Does Not Require the Borrowing of a West Virginia Coal Miner’s Hard Hat



Val has now added another career to her repertoire.

Sliver miner.

That’s right. Sliver miner. I recognized my skill set just this morning, when I stepped into the shower and pulled the door closed. I had toyed with the idea of grabbing a new bar of soap when first I entered the master bath. The en suite, as those pretentious buying and building and selling shows call it. But no. “There was half a soap bar yesterday,” Val reasoned with herself, in order to delay the bending it would require to fetch a new Irish Spring with Aloe from below the sink.

Au contraire. Just as a Wimpy character may not actually pay you gladly on Tuesday for a hamburger today…a half-bar of soap on Tuesday does not guarantee Val Thevictorian a half-bar of soap today. That robust slab was but a sickly shadow of its former self. Frail. I daresay an anorexic nonagenarian with osteogenesis imperfecta, recovering from a bout of malaria, could have snapped it like a strand of parched angel hair pasta.

What could Hick have that needs such a scrubbin’ in his nightly shower? We probably don’t want to know.

Val is not one to climb out of the shower all drippy and hike across that tile floor on a soapquest. No sirree, Bob! She made do. Her fair (though wide expanse of) epidermis must have felt as if it had been invited to a banquet, and served stone soup. Not the towering version, either.

As she cranked back in the La-Z-Boy, all snug under an afghan for her morning chair nap, Val could not help but wonder, as she heard Hick slide back the door for his morning shower, “How in not-heaven is he going to scrub with that onion-skin-paper-thin bar of soap, and leave a still-thinner sliver for me?”

12 comments:

  1. Oh. he'll find a way. And after he's reduced it to a sliver of soap that is only visible with a microscope, he'll make sure something is stuck onto the soap... something that makes you wonder, 'What is THAT?'

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    1. ACK! I won't wonder. I'll know what's stuck to it. He can deny it's his all he wants, but DNA don't lie!

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  2. I use soap until it's razor-blade thin so I won't throw stones.

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    1. If this was Soap-On-A-Rope, it would be Shred-On-A-Thread.

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  3. I hate that sliver thing. GO crazy and chuck it, I love the luxury of a new bar. Mrs C takes the sliver and sticks it to a new bar. How she keeps it together I never know.

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    1. The not-heaven you say! That sliver ruins a perfectly good new bar of soap. Mrs C should be thwarted in her quest to wring all the gusto she can out of the sliver.

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    2. Mrs. C says you must be a jerk!

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    3. Mrs. C is an apt judge of character!

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  4. I always check first. Miss Mac will leave the soap in a scummy puddle in the base of the shower flecked with hair shorn from her legs (sometimes with the addition of the razor embedded in the soap) whereas SD will carefully rinse the soap and leave it on the windowsill to dry. Either way the soap is often unusable or out of reach - I've taken to buying shower gel.

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    1. TMI--TMI--that's too graphic for me! Too much information! I'll take the dry windowsill soap any day.

      The Pony uses shower gel, but he's in a different bathroom. If we had it in our shower, Hick would be sure to knock it off at least once every morning while I was just nodding off for my chair nap.

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  5. I drop my sliver and predict when it will dissolve.

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    1. You're a gambler. You might as well play poker with Kenny Rogers.

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