When our children left home we installed a revolving front door. It is the same as those revolving doors you see as entrances to large department stores. The door provides access while keeping the weather out. It also makes it difficult for department store thieves who might want to sneak out something large like a Steinway piano under their coats.
We thought that a revolving door might limit the size of the furniture and and all the other junk that they would bring home as they revolved through the door over the decades - (Saying goodbye to your children is not called ‘The Long Goodbye’ for nothing.)
Of course like most parental strategies it didn’t work very well. One child returned and managed to drag through the revolving door a 747 jumbo jet and a concrete mixer. Another bought home 3 water beds, 20 kms of telephone cabling on a giant reel, a bus and a Russian nuclear submarine – I had high hopes about the submarine because as it squeezed through the door I heard voices inside. I thought that maybe it was crewed by an all female Russian crew who did belly dancing in their spare time. But it was an all male crew who sat around looking very gloomy, drinking copious quantities of vodka and farting a lot.
Our only daughter bought home her new boyfriend who is a trapeze artist with a circus. He had trouble getting the elephant through the door but the cute little Shetland ponies were a cinch. This particular boy friend had a particularly interesting tattoo. He had a large fox tattooed on his back. The fox was chasing a rabbit which was disappearing up his rectum. I know this because I saw the chase live as I opened the bathroom door at the same moment as the boyfriend decided to bend over and pick his toenails – “Sorry” he said, standing bolt upright as I entered the bathroom ( as you do in your own house) – “Can yer ken John Peel ? ” I enquired - as you do when confronted with a fox rampant chasing a frightened rabbit. “Jeez man you are a wag” he replied as he left to dress in my daughters bedroom. I must say he looked quite handsome in my dressing gown, its amazing how my clothes fit their friends.
All this might make you think that I am feeling a little cynical about my children continuing to revolve as they evolve into adults. Well not really. Who am I to make judgements about how my children wish to behave in my house, such sentiments are sooooooo last century.
Seriously, I have no problem with all of this – but I do with the next part of my story.
I am a very clean individual. I shower every day. I wash myself and shampoo my hair. It is a simple ablution in a simple setting. One shower head, one shower tap to turn the water on with and one plastic shower bottle. I use VO5 Volume boost shampoo – not that moi needs a volume boost but hey baby if you have got it (hair that is) why not flaunt it – but I digress.
When my daughter starts using the shower, life gets complicated. The floor of the shower becomes covered with a multitude of bottles. Many of these look exactly like my own bottle of shampoo. There is Schick Skin Protect, St Ives Apricot Scrub, Garnier Fructis (whatever the fuck that is), Schwarzkopf Colour Protect Conditioner, Pumice Foot Scrub ( where do they get the pumice? hold nets over active volcanoes?).
Now my problem with all this is that as I find myself confronted with all these plastic bottles, and being aged 57 and one half I forget which is my bottle of shampoo. And because the print is so small on the bottles and I am in the shower without my glasses on I can’t read any of the print on the bottles. So I fumble around like a wet 57 and one half year old naked man in a shower exclaiming very politely about my inability to read the fine print under a deluge of water.
But just as for every rabbit there is a hole and for every cloud there is a silver lining, there is for every bottle of shampoo with unreadable words a business plan.
There are many millions of parents around the world who endure in the shower what I endure so this is what I intend to do.
I shall market a range of my own shampoo. The bottles shall have the words SHAMPOO written on them in very LARGE letters. My shampoo shall be marketed under the brand name FOXY. It will have a little poem under the word 'Shampoo' that states – “Look Foxy and make your hair as soft as a Rabbits” – It will have a picture of a fox rampant, chasing a rabbit that is disappearing down the shampoo bottles spout.
I shall of course become a multi billionaire. As an act of whimsy I will probably buy the brewery that makes the best sailing beer in the world - the Heineken Brewery in Amsterdam. In fact I might buy the whole of the Netherlands, up anchor it, sail it to New Zealand and moor it off the coast. Jeez when you have lots of money why should you go all that way just for a bloody beer.