Soap, Liquor, Chocolate, Pop
parts of this dream really occurred
So I'd bought some tiny liquor-filled chocolate bottles a month or so
ago and was mostly disappointed. Well, first I was horrified at not
being carded (although I later was carded for buying disposable lighters)
and then I realized that what I had was frustratingly wrapped mediocre
chocolate with a mouthful of horrible-tasting liquor inside. Pop drove
up here a few days later to work on cars and drive us crazy, so I made
him eat the rest of them. I didn't really have to make him, though; he
likes liquor and chocolate and loves free or discarded things. I took
Pop to Bowling for Columbine (capsule review: meh) and he took the liquor-filled chocolate bottles.
He explained to me that I was eating them incorrectly; you have to bite down on the top bit, swallow that, drink the insides and then go after the rest of the bottle. I'd just been sucking on them contentedly until the liquor was released, then sucking on them with an upset look on my face because the liquor tasted pretty bad.
Anyway, the next day or so we all went to the store and they had tiny liquor-filled soap bottles. They were a little bigger than the chocolate ones, maybe the size of a regulation salt shaker if you didn't count the neck, and they weren't wrapped. They were made out of bright yellow soap with labels denoting the kind of liquor pasted onto the fronts. You had to buy nine at once in a plastic box, so they were still wrapped. I was worried that the soap would make the liquor taste, you know, horrible, but Pop assured me that that wasn't the case.
"They had those at Ed's party," he said, "and everyone was just throwing the soap in the trash!" Pop told me he'd fished all the soap out of the trashcan later and made a big ball of soap bottle scraps about the size of a cantaloupe. "It's pretty good soap, too; it's their knock-off of Dial." He explained that it was actually better than Dial because it'd been drying out in a warehouse or something, waiting for Christmas, and consequently wasn't so quick to dissolve. I asked if the soap ball smelled like liquor, and Pop said it did, but it didn't make him smell like liquor afterwards. Then Mom and Matie came back with the shopping cart and Mom called it "your father's wino soap."
On the next shelf they had soap-filled chocolate bottles. These were the size of the regular chocolate bottles, but filled with various flavors of bubble soap. Scents, I guess, not flavors. You were supposed to run a bath, bite off the tops of a few bottles, empty the soap into the tub and then rinse the chocolate off before you ate it. I had thought the liquor-filled soap bottles were bad, but that sounded worse. I couldn't stop thinking about my mouth being filled with liquid soap, oozing into every tiny crack and making everything in my life taste horrible. Then I thought about biting into the other soap bottles, and having dry yellow soap stuck to the back of my front teeth, and the slimy feeling of soapy teeth slowly mixing with water, rubbing against each other.
A display at the end of the aisle had tiny foil-wrapped chocolate bottles that were just full of chocolate, but I didn't want to think about tiny bottles of anything anymore.
He explained to me that I was eating them incorrectly; you have to bite down on the top bit, swallow that, drink the insides and then go after the rest of the bottle. I'd just been sucking on them contentedly until the liquor was released, then sucking on them with an upset look on my face because the liquor tasted pretty bad.
Anyway, the next day or so we all went to the store and they had tiny liquor-filled soap bottles. They were a little bigger than the chocolate ones, maybe the size of a regulation salt shaker if you didn't count the neck, and they weren't wrapped. They were made out of bright yellow soap with labels denoting the kind of liquor pasted onto the fronts. You had to buy nine at once in a plastic box, so they were still wrapped. I was worried that the soap would make the liquor taste, you know, horrible, but Pop assured me that that wasn't the case.
"They had those at Ed's party," he said, "and everyone was just throwing the soap in the trash!" Pop told me he'd fished all the soap out of the trashcan later and made a big ball of soap bottle scraps about the size of a cantaloupe. "It's pretty good soap, too; it's their knock-off of Dial." He explained that it was actually better than Dial because it'd been drying out in a warehouse or something, waiting for Christmas, and consequently wasn't so quick to dissolve. I asked if the soap ball smelled like liquor, and Pop said it did, but it didn't make him smell like liquor afterwards. Then Mom and Matie came back with the shopping cart and Mom called it "your father's wino soap."
On the next shelf they had soap-filled chocolate bottles. These were the size of the regular chocolate bottles, but filled with various flavors of bubble soap. Scents, I guess, not flavors. You were supposed to run a bath, bite off the tops of a few bottles, empty the soap into the tub and then rinse the chocolate off before you ate it. I had thought the liquor-filled soap bottles were bad, but that sounded worse. I couldn't stop thinking about my mouth being filled with liquid soap, oozing into every tiny crack and making everything in my life taste horrible. Then I thought about biting into the other soap bottles, and having dry yellow soap stuck to the back of my front teeth, and the slimy feeling of soapy teeth slowly mixing with water, rubbing against each other.
A display at the end of the aisle had tiny foil-wrapped chocolate bottles that were just full of chocolate, but I didn't want to think about tiny bottles of anything anymore.