Midwest Memo
Mighty clean
by Alan Shultz

From the looks of my shower stall, I should be one of the cleanest male specimens in the county. That's because a collection of all things soap-like has taken up residence along side the soggy au natural me.

My shower is one of those prefabricated fiberglass affairs. The makers of the shower provided a small ledge about shoulder high in the design of the space. I suspect that they figured a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap should do the trick and that was all the space that was required.

They were sadly mistaken.

First, I should be clear that I've not sought out, nor do I need, all these soap products in my shower. On a typical day I don't get all that dirty. Cleaning the gutters makes me a sorry sight - but that's twice year. And with 18 or so hairs on my head, I don't exactly need much in the way of shampoo.

So how is it that I am now being crowded out of my own shower by soap products?

Frankly, I can't verify where much of this stuff came from.

The ledge designed for one bar of soap and one bottle of shampoo is jammed full of a half dozen shampoos. Each shampoo bottle is a different height and a different color from the other. Each promises a unique benefit. One shampoo promises "maximum volume," another guarantees "tangle free." There are fragrances of peach and mango, vanilla and something on the order of limeade. Most of the bottles are less than half full. Some date back to the early '80s.

In the summer we have lots of guests and my bathroom becomes the guest bath. I think my soap collection is the result of a couple forgetful guests who right now are scrubbing and lathering away with a little bitty sliver of Ivory.

Hanging from the shower spigot is something called a shower caddy. The shower caddy is really just a couple of open shelves intended to hold -well, soap products. My shower caddy is really more like a small museum devoted to all expensive soap products that will never be thrown away.

On the top shelf are any products purchased at the "natural $tore." These products promise to be fragrancefree or perhaps kind to itchy skin. One pricey bottle is intended for shoulders only. As long as I even vaguely recall the price paid for these items, the bottles will remain on permanent display.

The second shelf is devoted to bar soap. This shelf also has a museum quality to it since I haven't used bar soap for a decade or so. There's a little Irish Spring, some tan chunky soap with a musky odor and then there is the obligatory sliver of Ivory.

With the ledge and the

shelves full, the floor of my shower has become spill over storage for soap products. That's where "economy size" body splash and body wash products can be found. I've got an array of cheap stuff down there - generic stuff labeled "spring clean" and "fall fresh." The cheap stuff makes no claims of "being gentle" or "improving" or "healing" any body surface. I suppose Madison Avenue doesn't think "removes dirt" does much to sell more product.

Finally, on the floor of the shower is a big squirt bottle of clear soap. This is actually shower surface cleaner. The label on this bottle has long ago fallen off. When this bottle appeared on the scene it was after our well water started to leave a yellow tint on the shower surface. I was instructed to use this cleaner to squirt down the walls of the shower after each use - no rinsing required.

Now that I think about it, some of last summer's guests left us with a certain glow, a clean radiance. We attributed it to our hospitality, but now I'm thinking it may have been my shower wall cleaner.

Keeping clean - it's just not as simple as it sounds.