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Mystery of the Bar of Soap – Updated

Taking my bath this morning, I discovered a very peculiar thing – a full bar of white, oval shaped soap sitting on the holder at the side of the bath.  I know that may not sound odd, however;  I do not use bar soap – ever!  Especially the kind with the cheap floral scent such as this one.  My skin just cannot tolerate it.  In fact, what normally sits in that spot is my razor, but I had moved it the day before knowing that my granddaughter was staying overnight and I didn’t want her getting into it.  Furthermore, I would never buy that kind of soap, and should anyone gift it to me, it gets tossed immediately – I am allergic to perfume.

So the soap had to come from outside our house, but by whom and when?

Saturday, we were home all day, babysitting the little one.  The only other visitor to the house was my son, but when I asked him, he responded:  “Why would I do something like that?”

It wasn’t my husband; he has his own bathroom and prefers body gel to bar soap.

So that leaves our home care worker.  She came over for an hour yesterday afternoon (Sunday) while we were out at the movies with our granddaughter.  She was helping us with a few household tasks that we didn’t get finished the day before.  th-1

Either that or someone broke in and had a bath while we were out.

What other explanation could there be?

Any sleuths out there care to guess?  I am at a loss to explain this mystery.

Update:  A Lesson in Jumping to Conclusions

While stripping and remaking our bed, the home maker discovered a bag with the soap in it – leftover from last year’s stocking stuffers.  She thought I might like it, so innocently set it on the tub.

Notice how my mind jumped to the impossibility of having bar soap in our house, and I didn’t even mention the other “clues” I was amassing building a case that surely indicated our sacred space was violated.

Oh how the mind can take us to dark places – hope I’ve learned my lesson.

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Categories: humour nonfiction

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V.J. Knutson

Writer, avid reader, former educator, and proud grandmother, currently experiencing life through the lens of ME/CFS. Words are, and always have been, a lifeline. Some of the best adventures, I'm discovering, take place in the imagination.

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