Apparently, I am now old enough that people can give me hand soap as a gift. Not bubble bath, mind you, not shower gel with corresponding body buff, but full on hand soap.
I remember when we used to give my Grandpa cloth handkerchiefs for Christmas. Not bandanas, but thin white handkerchiefs, sometimes with the initial M on them for Marshall. Hankies and a box of Almond Roca and Grandpa’s dreams had come true. Or so it seemed.
But now that I’ve received hand soap as a gift, I wonder if Grandpa got that first batch of re-usable Kleenexes and he said to himself, “Judas Priest, I must be old. I do believe I just got a snot rag for cotton pickin’ Christmas.”
This is how we used to cuss when I was a little girl.
Oh god. Please pass the Almond Roca.