The Obscenity of Objects

I always feel dirty washing my hands at Kurt and Guillaume's.

Instead of a soap dish by the bathroom sink, they have a contraption from Guillaume's native Provence. Affixed to the wall, a rod protrudes onto which you slide and screw a special egg-shaped soap.

The design is clever in that it frees up room around the sink and keeps the soap from turning sludgy.

But the action required to work up a lather seems like the kind of thing that could get you arrested on indecency charges if performed in a public bathroom.

Sacré bleu!

And don't even get me started on the moves required if ordered to wash your mouth out with soap.

Tip of the Day

Never place a bottle of wine in a flimsy plastic bag already containing thai basil and kaffir lime leaves you bought in Chinatown, and then sling said bag over the handlebars of your bike.

But should you choose to do so anyway, hook the bag over the handle closest to the curb. That way when the bag breaks and your bottle hits the pavement, and assuming the bottle somehow doesn't shatter, it will roll under parked cars, instead of moving ones.

Then when you get home, you can uncork your miracle bottle and toast to surviving another day despite your demonstrated lack of common sense.

Things Overheard While Riding My Bike

Northeast end of Parc Jeanne Mance, due south. Mid-afternoon. Young woman turns to her friend and confidently affirms "FOUR."

Northbound on the Rue Clarke bike path between St-Viateur and Bernard. Evening. Hooded figure yanks dog leash. Pinched female voice exclaims to either me or the dog "Faites attention!"

Eastbound on Rue de Castelnau heading towards Avenue de Gaspé. Windy, overcast afternoon. A slight man in his fifties is gesturing wildly to someone walking away from him on the sidewalk. Cigarette dangling, grey pompadour swaying, arms flailing, he yells "No cheese!"

"NO CHEESE!"