This is a story about soap: soap that I bought eight years ago as a penniless new bride, fancy French milled soap marked 84-cents on a Target endcap.
We carried this soap 800 miles on a Florida road trip. I brought my budget bread-and-butter gifts for relatives along the way.
My husband's grandmother loved the soap. It sat on a decorative shelf in her bathroom for many years, but was never used. When she moved home to Georgia, she took the soap with her.
After her death, we helped empty the apartment. There was the soap, with its still-sweet scent and sweeter memories. I brought it home to my gift closet. Soon it was my mother's birthday...
We made her a special lunch, but I let the kids pack the soaps in a pink floral bag, a little favor to open from the grandchildren.
"Oh, these are too pretty for me!" Mom exclaimed, setting them back on my counter. "Why don't you save them for your Aunt Linda's Christmas? She has guests all the time, you know."
I've been looking at these soaps for a month now, reluctant to pass along an obvious white elephant. Tonight, I decided to enjoy them all to myself. Things this pretty deserve to be used, especially when they cost so little and traveled so far.
Perhaps I can answer our question about making soap last longer, after all.