Life is full of firsts; first steps, first day of school, first kiss, first car, first job…each marking some kind of rite of passage. I remember buying my first washing machine not so much because of the purchase itself but rather how excited I was, and then it turn how embarrassed I was about my excitement. For me it was a sign of being an independent adult.
I also remember the first job I had that required me to have a business card. Not including the part time jobs I had at school and university it was my fifth job that afforded me a small piece of cardboard bearing my name. The pride, despite earlier jobs having greater responsibility and demanding greater commitment and work hours the supply of business cards made this position feel like my first real job.
Most recently I finished my first cake of soap. No, not the first cake of soap I ever used. That would imply I bathe so infrequently and use so little soap when I do that one bar of cleansing product would last over 30 years. What I mean is, it is the first bar I have used until it completely disappeared during application. In my family it was practice to join the last slither of soap to the top of the next, new bar. This meant it was never obvious when any single bar was completely used. I have continued this practice into my adulthood.
Imagine all the money I am saving.
Well this week out of sheer laziness – I could not be bothered to get a new cake of soap out of the cupboard adjacent the shower – my soap completely disappeared. I did not drop the last little piece, it did not go down the drain, I just used it all up. Of course I am not sure exactly when in my cleaning routine the soap ran out so it is questionable how clean I actually was. But I did it.
It is like driving to see how far you can go once the needle on fuel gauge hits empty, without the risk of having to walk for an hour to buy fuel.
I also remember buying my first television. A T.V. all of my own, in my own room! This was before houses had my television sets than people and people monitors were carried in every pocket disguised as a telephone and built into the front of refrigerators so you no longer had to wait for an advert to grab a drink.
My mum was upset for days; she cried and wouldn’t speak to me. She thought this was the first step to me moving out of home. She was right, I got my own place 3 years later! In reality all I wanted to do was control the remote.