My mom worked for Roy M. Quick, a bigwig banker in the Chicago area in the 1960s. She thought he was brilliant. I thought he was an arrogant windbag. Much later, Sherry and I named one of our cats Roy M. Quick (by far a better name for a kitty than a pompous banker).
Anyway, Roy M. Quick gave my mom, Irene, all these righteous little tips for leading a frugal and responsible life. As a high school kid, I’d look on from across the room, knowing Roy’s tips would eventually have a negative impact on my lifestyle.
The most egregious tip was to save the little piece of soap when it had worn down and attach it to the new, big bar. How stupid is that? For one thing, the soap bars were slippery and did not automatically cling together. Often the bars were different colors, which made the patched-up bar look like a Creamsicle without a stick.
Did I mention Roy M. Quick lived in a huge house and had a fleet of expensive cars? Yeah, right. I can just imagine Mr. Quick smacking two bars of soap together before entering his gold-plated bathtub.
This memory came rushing back to me this morning, when Sherry removed a well-used Zest bar out of my garbage can and placed it on my side of the sink.