I May Be a Liar, But My Soap is Fancy, Dammit.

(Subtitle: Mo Fancy Soap, Mo Problems.)

I refilled the fancy brand soap dispenser in my guest bathroom with a cheaper brand, and it makes me feel weird about myself.

Sure, the bottle itself is aesthetically nice, which is a significant part of the reason I chose to commit this act. And I poured it from a large refill container, not a similar-sized purchased bottle that I then discarded. But still…this definitely says something about me as a person, no?

I had savored every last drop of that real fancy soap. I don’t normally spend that much money on soap, and I consciously enjoyed its reign in my favorite turquoise powder room. (To be completely transparent — there is a boring yet complicated backstory that concludes with me not actually paying for the soap. A third party paid for the soap.)

This luxurious amber liquid had actually been the subject of conversation before, due to its fanciness. My husband found out how much the soap cost and immediately proclaimed that no one was allowed to use the soap, and that it must live untouched forever on a pedestal….sink. I relayed my ‘The Husband Thinks the Soap is Too Expensive’ anecdote to the third party mentioned earlier. This person then informed me that I was not allowed to tell this story to their significant other. The third party in question had been stocking their bathrooms with this mythical toiletry regularly for months, and may not have disclosed to their life partner the price tag that comes with such soft and fragrant hands.

So now not only am I harboring a forbidden fruit of a hand-care product, I’m also keeping secrets and potentially telling future lies to protect my soap source. Things just got really, really complicated.

I end up rebelling against the mandate to Never Touch the Soap. I migrate downstairs to this particular ivory throne more often just so I can finish my business with a touch of the good life. The soap lasted much longer than I anticipated, which is either an added bonus to this whole ordeal, or a sign that my friends and guests don’t regularly wash their hands. Fairly confident it’s the former.

Then one day, the soap runs out. I have a choice to make. “Oh, how ‘bout that, our Mrs. Meyer’s refill jug is Lemon Verbena. That could totally pass for Orange & Bergamot.” And so, the deed was done. But I won’t lie to you, that was the longest pour of my life.