You know- all those powders and gelatinous liquids which promise to make you feel like a combination of Gwyneth Paltrow, Megan Fox and the Dalai Lama if you add them to your hot bath water and lie back for twenty minutes? All in pretty shades of pink and pastel blue and green and yellow, with exaggerated evil descriptions on the fancy artsy labels “let your senses sink into the extravagant sensual tang of moroccan tangerines, and your body energized by soothing extract of cactus…”

Fortunately, Gentle Reader, I do not suffer much temptation for buying these nauseating lying products, for I really cannot see the point of them – they are not useful, you can’t show them off, you can’t eat them- you can only, what, smell them? And even that lasts only as long as your bath does, or not even as long as. So while I struggle on a daily basis against buying clothes! makeup! food! treats! drinks! and so on, I have been able to walk indifferently  past the smelly aisle of bathroom products, my ears plugged against their siren song, no consumer lust boiling in my heart.  I do believe the last time I added anything (except salt, after some strenuous exercise session) to my bathwater was when I was seven or eight, and “bubble baths” where the fun item of the day.

But yet, but yet. Capitalism is stronger than you or I, and the great merchants of bathing products, upset at seeing one potential consumer roaming the aisles of her local supermarket apparently free and impervious to the lure of the bathing section, were working feverishly, night and day, to come up with something to entice me.

And they succeeded. Gentle Reader, I give you Goat’s Milk Bathing powder:

The Goat: A Captain of Industry


Excuse the blur- I hope you can still make out the picture of the goat?

Yes, the goat got me. Where the extracts of hyacinths from Mars and pearls from the Dead Sea failed to persuade me to reach for my poor abused wallet, this stupid goat caught me. Partly because I thought the children would have such a good laugh at the goat. Ah- the mothering instinct- such a traitor when it comes to shopping. (and careers, and relationships, and going out with friends, and inviting people over, and doing yoga, and having a good night’s sleep, and going for a walk).

Anyway, they did not find the goat funny. The goat merely freaked them out.

“So- does this change the bathwater to goat milk? Like rich people?” asked the Princess. For indeed, the label claims that it is made out of pure goat milk protein, which is, like, the best thing ever for your skin.

The powder, I can report with confidence, did nothing to my bathwater. It didn’t smell of anything much, didn’t turn it to milk, didn’t give me “a relaxing spa experience”. I might as well have shaken a capful of nothing in the bathtub.

And so. I might have slipped with The Goat, but return to my previous resolution, stronger than ever. Not a cent shall I ever, ever spend on bathing products. I will be the winner of the not-buying-bathing-products-contest.


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