Being a human is a lot of work, especially if you happen to be a human that resides in a human body. The upkeep is ridiculous…feeding it, washing it, clothing it, moving it, resting it, deodorizing it, odorizing it…its needs are endless. Thankfully the fine folks at Irish Spring have taken it upon themselves to consolidate some of this endless upkeep into one bottle. A stately green bottle with a shamrock and misty water cascading over rocks.

Tis an Irish spring…or a German spring where the product was first introduced in 1970, or an American spring where it arrived in 1972, or a spring in Mexico, China or Indonesia where some of the manufacturing occurs today, or an AI generated rendering of what an artificially intelligent “thing” (without a hairy, sweaty body to maintain) thinks an Irish spring might look like. So it goes.

Five bodily tasks in one bottle, a bottle that is “50% more” for a price that is 50% less than some other bottle…shampoo, conditioner, body wash, face wash, and 24hr deodorizer. Whatever will I do with the 37-seconds of my life this green genie of clean has bestowed upon me? Perhaps finally discover that elusive boundary between the skin on my body and the skin on my face that apparently require different types of soap?

Is it at turtleneck level…mock turtleneck…crew neck…V-neck…scoop neck? I heard someone say once that wearing a turtleneck was like being slowly strangled by someone with really weak hands. There was a phase around 1990 where a mock turtleneck adorned with a gold chain under a cardigan topped with a magnificent mullet was the epitome of style…then it was mocked. As for scoop neck, I find the constant cleavage leering to be unsettling, “Hello! My eyes are up here!”

The other day, with 37-seconds to spare, I stood in the shower and pondered. I pondered the fact that there is a spot in the middle of my back, roughly the size of two helpings of 1970s Burke County Fair cotton candy on a paper cone, that I have not laid my hands upon for many moons. It’s not for lack of effort, oh I’ve tried many times to scratch that itch, that itch that perhaps a lathering of Irish Spring might serve to alleviate.

I’ve written Irish Spring and requested an upgrade to a 6-in-1 product, with the sixth addition being a bottle the size and shape of a gorilla arm. I suppose the other option is an actual gorilla, but I don’t want to go through the hassle of obtaining a building permit to add onto our shower.

Speaking of cotton candy at the Burke County Fair (“Flaxton Fair” as we normal folk have always referred to it as), one of my earliest memories is walking down the midway with a fresh swirl of cotton candy on a paper cone in one hand and my mom’s hand in the other. I’m not sure how old I was, old enough to walk and young enough to not be mortified about holding my mom’s hand in public. 17…18?

I remember we walked by an electrical pole, a wooden one, roughed up and splintery from years of weather and lineman climbing gaffs, and as we went by the pole, as my mom’s hand led me in one direction, I felt a tug in my other hand, the hand that was now holding a paper cone.

The last I saw of my swirl of cotton candy, it was clinging to that pole, waggling a bit in the prairie breeze…free at last. Whenever I try and scratch that itch I think of that cotton candy and wonder how its life turned out?