January 13, 2011
Three weeks ago you came into our lives from the local Fred Meyer, your label redolent of simpler times, your frosted plastic bottle hinting at the orange bounty therein. Since then you’ve selflessly contributed cleanliness and good smell to me every day, but I’m afraid one more douse of shower water–even with your cap off–yielded none of your essence this morning. This was not a surprise as during the past week you’ve seemed less and less your vibrant, sudsy self. After much debate, we decided to put you down in the recycle bin this afternoon, retiring you with the cardboard, tin cans and random paper-y trash, where you’ll rest until the garbage man comes on Wednesday.
How faithfully you sat on the bath tub rim waiting for me every morning! So stoic. A loyal servant, you. Those first few days I remember fondly. The heft of you–there is no other word for it–sitting dollop-like in my hand just before I applied you to my scalp. Your richness adhered perfectly to my thinning coif. This, of course, was before I left your cap off and shower water got into…but let’s not talk about that on a day like this.
Remember the time I ran out of body wash? I didn’t know what to do. But there you were, lid flap up, ready to pull double duty. My wife always found your scent appealing.
I can’t help but apologize for those middling days when I was late for work. I took you for granted, my little Vo-Vo, rubbing you into my hair without a thought to your finer qualities. But you never complained. One reassuring squeeze everyday was all you asked for, and sometimes, when my hair was especially dirty, you got two.
So let this letter serve as my valediction to our all-too-brief time together, VO5 Normal. You can rest knowing that the dollar I spent on you was paid back at least three-fold.