These Soaps Are For Company

The soaps that are shaped like things? Those are the good soaps. Guests get to use the good soaps. Those soaps are not for you and they are not for your little friends. They are certainly not for your friend Tony. Under no circumstances is Tony allowed anywhere near the good soaps. Have I made myself clear?

Good Soaps Are Not for Tony

When Tony comes over, I want you to put the good soaps somewhere he can't reach. Put them on the highest shelf you can. I know he can't reach the soaps I put on the high shelves because they don't have little hamster bites taken out of them.

Oh? Well, go ahead and tell Tony he has weird little hamster teeth. If I cared what Tony thought, I'd let him use the good soaps. I certainly don't care about Tony's opinion of me or how we do things in this household or which box of mac and cheese he prefers over homemade macaroni pasta and real cheese that took over an hour to make.

I don't care about Tony's opinion because Tony nibbles on my soaps and drools on our nice pillows whenever he stays overnight and I always have to bleach the stains out and he makes disrespectful noises with his hands during grace and he dries his dirty little hands on my good towels and those are only for decoration just like the good soaps which are only for company and Tony does not count as company. Therefore, once again, Tony is not allowed to use the good soaps.

Have I Made Myself Clear?

I'm sure that boy's parents let him do whatever he wants like some soap-eating feral child, but someone needs to explain to that child that here, in this household, we have rules, and one of those rules is that soaps are not for eating. The most important rule of all, which I apparently have to keep reminding you over and over, is that Tony is not allowed to use, touch, taste, smell, look at, think about, mention, imagine, or remember the good soaps.

I know. We'll put them away in the cabinet in the back behind the towels. Because we can't enjoy the nice things anymore. Only company. We'll have to keep all the nice things locked away and only take them out 15 minutes before company arrives. Because of Tony.

Someone Needs to Teach That Child Some Manners

Will you look at this! Half of these are already ruined. They look even worse than the regular soaps! At least the regular soaps just look like soap. These look like — God damn it, they just look like lumps! Well, this one looks like a fat ugly goat. It's supposed to be a horse or a sea shell or... something! I can't even look at this abomination and tell you what it's supposed to be anymore. Shit! Darn it, I mean.

I can't let guests use soap that looks like some kind of blasphemous mutant. Do you want your Grandpa to have to wash his hands with this — this accident? That's not how we treat company.

Not in This Household

These are just useless now. Might as well feed them all to Tony. Eat up, Tony, since apparently homemade macaroni and cheese made from my mother's recipe doesn't meet your high standards. We wouldn't want your mother thinking we send you to bed hungry! And then when Tony's ready for a good sudsy puke, try to aim Tony toward the toilet bowl. Or at least save the rug this time and keep it on the tile. His vomit is mostly cleaning product, after all; I might as well get some use of it.

Maybe next time I should leave the bleach out for him to wash everything down with. Then I could brighten up the grout before the paramedics show up. We don't want them to think we're savages.