Bar of Soap Diary

I wonder what it thought when I took a picture of it

I wrote this for a Facebook Fictionade contest based on a picture I took of soap. It really corresponds with my belief that aging men are so, so gross. 

BAR OF SOAP DIARY

SUNDAY, EARLY
Not sure what time it is, but it’s ungodly early.  First, a burst of light,  then Carl shoved me against his anus. Again. Another rude awakening.

I don’t care how good of shape a man is in or how many early morning runs he goes on, something happens when men turn 40. Everything is disgusting and they don’t care. And it’s as if he’s completely thrown caution to the wind. Doesn’t anyone in this house give a hoot about cross contamination?

SUNDAY, MORNING
Every day, like clockwork. There’s Judy--leggy, elegant, motherly--waltzing in, humming to herself,  absentmindedly undressing while the water warms, steam still drifting off the cup of coffee she’ll ignore. How Carl landed such a catch, I can’t imagine. If only she knew what he did in here...

SUNDAY NIGHT
Bathnight. It used to bother me when Judy would wash the kids with the liquid “gentle” soap. What? Am I not good enough? Doesn’t she realize I’m anti-bacterial too? I guess, like anything else, I got used to it and came to understand that the less I was used then the longer I’d be around to wash up Judy. Bar of Soap DiaryWash away the build up of scum and filth that she constantly seems to accumulate.

Bar of Soap Diary