Luv my cake of soap

The other day, my wife caught me making goo goo sounds with a cake of soap, as I let it glide smoothly down my arms and shoulders.
What on earth are you doing, she asked, with that asperity wives bring into their voices when talking to long married husbands, a mix of exasperation and 'is this what I got in the lucky dip of marriage'.
Making luv to the soap, my dear, I said in a sultry voice, having always been fascinated by soap ads where the model caresses her cake of soap like they're going on a date.
He has finally lost it, she said (my wife, not the model), desist from making those mooning noises right now (to me, not the model).
Not that any of this happened but come on, you get the drift, every soap ad has the bather caressing the soap and looking at it with dreamy eyes. Me and my soap, we have a more robust relationship, like I just rub it hard across my arms and chest and then it falls to the ground and ricochets all over the place at exactly the same time as suds get in my eyes and now I am blindly groping for the darn thing and it keep slipping out of my hand and why are you reading this piece anyway, don't you have anything better to do?
I have never figured out why we don't reflect the spirit of the ad world in real life. Maybe life would be more fun. Like my wife never smiles with unconcealed rapture when she fiddles about with her little mini maximixi. Hey, there, I say, why so glum, that slicer is your bestest chum. See the lady in the ad. She has that look of utter contentment on her face. It is like she was born to mash and grind and dice and chop and this is her on TV expressing her vocation in life.  From her expression, you would think she leaps out of the bed in the morning and sings, 'Me and mini maximixi, swingin' along, singin' a song, side by side, give me carrots, give me beans, give me corn and some mutton, watch me mince with a touch of the button.'
Women working in the kitchen in advertising always look happy. Their food looks happy. Their squeaky clean children look happy and when they rush in for lunch they hug Mumsy with sheer joy and Mum, every hair in place, says, see what I made, 27 dishes (all hot) for my little babykins, all thanks to my mini maximixi. Wives in ads do not clang pots and pans in anger.
In real life, when din din comes to the table, the kids say, yech, carrots again. And Mum says, eat your food you ungrateful kids, I have been slaving away in the kitchen all day, you think it's fun going whirr the whole day, ever tried cleaning the thing, you think that I married your father to be stuck in the kitchen.
Wives say ad husbands are people they certainly did not marry. In the ad, the husband comes home and goes for the dinner with splendid vigour because it has all been made in non-cholesterol Suppall oil. Darling, he mumbles ecstatically between mouthfuls, I love you and I love Suppall, thank you so much for caring for my health. And she beams like a headlight slicing fog. Then she kisses the Suppall tin. In real life, husband comes home and says, whataday, the boss is a real pain, he's driving me nuts, what's for dinner. She plonks two dishes in front of him.Then he takes a bite of the kebab and says, too salty and, why can't you make them like my mother ? She bursts into tears and kicks the Suppall tin out of the door.
Ads can be dangerous. Like this one we were watching the other night where this lady is having a ball washing dishes because she used Soodsy suds or something and not only is she bestowed with sparkling crockery, she also has soft hands, because Soodsy is kind to them. So, I say, how come you keep buying expensive creams when you can manage with five bucks worth of Soodsy? There is this long, gluey silence, followed by a 'has anyone ever told you how unfunny you are' remark. Look at her hands, I say, I mean Soodsy's smothering them with kindness, not just that, we could have dazzling forks and knives to boot. Gluey silence extends itself. The rest of the story unfolds downhill and need interest nobody.
wknd@khaleejtimes.com