I like the idea of exfoliation. Even Ed Gein probably didn’t like being covered in his own dead skin. But the “scrubby gloves” I’ve been using for the last year have started to smell like an ammonia-soaked corpse, even after running them through the washer. So, I went looking for a replacement.
Bath and gift shops sell scrubby balls of crinoline that look more like they should be attached to the headband of a 7 year-old pageant tart than in a shower. I don’t think anyone has actually ever used one. They’re just for making pretty “luxurious bath time” baskets that people buy for relatives and girlfriends because they require little thought, but seem thoughtful; like roses from a gas station or high school student poetry.
A brush on the end of a stick is nice for reaching the small of your back, but awkward for the rest of you; especially in a shower about the width and depth of a coffin. In that environment, Brush on a Stick is hard on the elbows.
I loved my scrubby gloves, but feeling like I should try and make a real change, in the end I bought a loofa mitt.
I realized my mistake almost immediately.
The mitt is too wide and easily slips off my little paw. My hand swims around inside of it like a heroin addict in last year’s wardrobe.
Unlike the gloves, which allow me to use both hands to wash simultaneously, the mitt restricts me to one-handed washing. Then I have to switch hands to reach the other side of my body, which is particularly difficult because my left hand defected years ago and seems to work for someone else. I certainly have no real control over what it does. It only stays with me out of fear, thanks to a threat of violence from my loyal right hand.
Whereas the gloves allowed me to employ all the nimbleness my fingers could afford, using the mitt is like beating yourself with a club foot. And it is much too scratchy. I want to gently slough off dead skin cells, not scale a fish.
The horror of Loofa Mitt doesn’t end there. Knowing full-well it had fallen wildly short of it’s intended purpose, Loofa Mitt decided to add insult to injury — probably on the recommendation of my left hand, who has employed this tactic before. On day two, I picked up Loofa to give it one more shot, and found it had curled up like a dead insect with an impenetrable exoskeleton. The gnarly loofa half of the mitt was hard as a rock. I could wear it like a cuff and block bullets like Wonder Woman.
What good is a mitt that turns into an unchewable hamster tunnel after one use? Useful for hamster owners, yes, but not everyone who purchases a loofa mitt has a hamster. I, for example, do not have a hamster. But I think Loofa knew that.
Loofa Mitt has spent the last two weeks in my shower, stuffed between the towel bar and the wall, mocking me. The pink felt lining on the inside of the curled tube makes the whole thing look uncomfortably like a sex-education cross section of the female reproductive system. I shouldn’t have to avert my eyes every time I need to bathe.
Soak it in water to keep it supple you say? HA! That is exactly what it wants. If left in water no doubt Loofa would spring back to life and I would wake up one night with it clamped across my face. A day later my chest would explode, unleashing an army of Loofa Mitt larva upon the world. That is probably from where my own hell spawn of a mitt arrived — no one could actually manufacture such utter pieces of shit on purpose and still be able to sleep at night.
I need to throw out Loofa Mitt and end my misery.
There are two reasons why I haven’t.
First, I hate to use something once and then just throw it out after spending good money on it.
Second, about a year ago I bought the same loofa mitt at the same store and threw it out after one day. I totally forgot.
So, now Loofa mocks me from its perch behind the towel bar. Loofa knows I can’t throw it out. Loofa knows I can’t bear to waste money on it twice.
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