In every great success story there is always a failure or two and Camp Kay is no exception. It has now been over six months since Camp Kay last convened. I want you to understand that I am using the word ‘convene’ rather loosely because we convene at our convenience. Each day we convene sometime between 10:00 AM and 3:00 PM.
I’m bringing this up because I am beginning to suspect that our lax system of rules (generally speaking – the time we convene) may have contributed greatly to my present consternation over the poor quality of a good deal of the soap we made.
The soap I kept was made for me, myself, personally. It was made from twelve years accumulation of old soap I kept in a plastic Double Bubble, bubble gum pail. That’s another problem I seem to be having. My soap all smells like Double Bubble. I smell like Double Bubble, bubble gum and yesterday a four year old munchkin in Wal-Mart tried to bite a chunk out of my calf. I’m talking about a piece of my leg. Little American kids have really well developed teeth by the age of four.
All we did was melt the soap down and pour it into molds I made. For molds I used those plastic drawers you see in small hardware containers that have compartments where tinkerers and putterers keep their bolts, nuts, washers, loose screws and most of their addled brains.
My only problem was I had to make partitions in the drawers so I could have six ounce bars of soap instead of one pound bars which are more of a challenge to to take a bath with as you might guess. Did you ever drop a one pound bar of soap on your toes?
We poured the soap in the makeshift molds and I began to press the soap firmly into each compartment. I used a fairly small hors d’oeuvre knife to press the soap as hard as possible into the form.
After I did a couple I could tell Ken-Ken wanted my job so I let her do it because I was afraid she would fall asleep on her feet and topple over into a hot tub of soap. This was a big mistake on my part because Ken-Ken apparently fell asleep anyhow and she did not firmly press the soap into the molds. She left big air bubbles all in the soap, only you couldn’t tell it because the finished bars looked solid.
How do I know this? Well, yesterday I was using one of those bars of soap in the shower and my finger slipped into a big hole in the soap and then my finger came all the way through the soap and stabbed me in the eye. Note the photographs. I didn’t know what happened. I couldn’t see. I thought Norman Bates had jumped me in the shower and was trying to stab me in my eyes.
I started yelling and thrashing around and almost tore down the shower stall before Katie Mae came in the bathroom and told me to shut up. She never asks anymore if I have a problem. I’m afraid to confide too much in her because she’s tried to have me committed to a facility for the mentally unwell a couple of times already.
Later on I tried to explain why the soap attacked me and why I was yelling. I mentioned if Ken-Ken had pressed the melted soap more firmly into my wonderfully created molds I would not have such holy soap.
Katie Mae gives me a really disgusted look and said, “You are such an idiot. Ken-Ken did not help you finish that soap. You finished it by pushing the soap down with your fingers and do you want to know why you had air bubbles in the soap that YOU made?”
I don’t think I looked sheepish because I don’t know how to do that but I gamely stuck my head face-down under my arm and said, “Why?”
She said, ” Because you stopped using the hors d’oeuvre knife and you started using your bare fingers and your right hand has an exceptionally short finger on it ever since that bull dog bit it off back in 1976. That short finger left air pockets in all your soap.”
Well anyhow, I’m sorry if I accused you unjustly Ken-Ken but I still think if you had stayed awake longer you could have brought it to my attention that one finger is still much shorter than the others.