I’ve been thinking a lot lately about challenges in life. Tragedies. The unexpected, the twist and turns, the things one doesn’t see coming as one is going about one’s business thinking that everything is cool. Some of these curve balls are truly horrible, traumatic, depression material-type things. Some of them are just stupid.
It is the stupid things that I’m talking about today. Specifically, Daddy and the Ass Soap. As the title of this post may have suggested.
I guess I was probably in my late teens to early twenties when my dad decided that his rear end required special treatment above and beyond your typical cleansing routine. I am not sure why because quite frankly, I did not want to discuss it with him in any level of detail. All I know for sure is that a special, more gentle brand of soap was purchased and when we asked why there were now two kinds of soap in the shower we were told, “Don’t touch that one. It’s Daddy’s ass soap.”
Along with the ass soap, there eventually came to also be an ass towel, which hung there drying on the towel rod in the bathroom shower. I don’t know why there had to be a separate towel because, again, I wasn’t asking. Seriously, would you? You would not. No one would.
I’d go to take a shower and see a bath towel already hanging in there. “Dad!” I’d call out. “Come get your ass towel out of here!”
And he’d come and do it, instead of yelling back that I should do it myself. It was not that he was protecting me from having to touch the ass towel. My dad was never protecting us from his ass. He was protecting his ass from us.
In case you think my dad would be embarrassed by my writing this, let me assure you he would not. He was very proud of his regimen. In fact he once announced to my whole family that he had “the cleanest asshole in the state of Pennsylvania.” I wanted to get a banner made to hang on the front of our house. My dad would likely have gone along with that and enjoyed it immensely.
As for my mother – well. You kind of have to wonder whether, standing at the altar with her groom in 1963, she could have ever, ever seen this coming. One day, this man I’ve chosen to marry will have an entire ass protocol that I will have no choice but to respect. Of course she didn’t see that coming. That is the thing about life: there is always some new trick right around the corner.
The key, if you ask me, is to know this. And not only to know it, but to accept it and go with it and not try to fight every little thing. There will always be nice and wonderful things, and then there will always be husbands that terrorize you with ass concerns. And there will be worse things than that.
Things change. Bathrooms become overtaken by Daddy’s ass equipment. Have a laugh where you can and keep moving. Also, I guess, keep your ass clean. And be careful which towel you use, because you never know.