Instant Gratification

One of the things I've learnt from my Dad is stocking up. Before something gets over, make sure you have a replacement ready. So as my body wash (yes, I graduated from the bar soap. While the bottle is more convenient. Theres nothing quite like opening the flimsy cardboard box and cradling that block of carved whole soap) was getting over, I went out to get a new one.
Now the old one is nice and is from a company whose name is used by countless kids, in their inevitable stabs at poetry, to rhyme with Love. It has the word Fresh and has a very nice picture of a Cucumber and is cool green.

In the store, I went, as usual, to the hinted-at Company's shelf. But I let my eye wander. And I spied with my wee eye: something different. This nice, pretty bottle (Snap! The marketing trap claims another victim) that rhymes with the childhood Ultimate Abuse word of Meano. [ I am, of course, talking about my childhood.
The kids these days use adult words so nonchalantly; it makes me worry
a) what would constitue bad langage when they reach adulthood
b) if they get any pleasure out of using the forbidden words

]
I thought I should experiment. It was a little more expensive but I justified it by reminding myself of all the long hours I worked.

So now, everyday, when I am whining mentally about the day ahead, I see that pretty bottle with the nice smell tempting me. Ah, who knew the allure of peach and shea buttter [ other than the marketeers, of course]
But I still have the old bottle to finish. Every day, the new bottle calls to me in that husky voice, "Go on, you know you want to" but everyday I listen to my practical waste-not side and pour out a generous dollop from my old not-so-minty-green- anymore bottle. Gosh, the last few drops in that bottle just dont seem to get over despite/because of my eagerness to "move on"

One particular morning, everything was going wrong. Attributing it to getting up on the wrong side is out of the question since the "bed" is walled in, in a corner but ours not to reason why. Ours but to do and cry. The foul mood lingered as I got ready for office.

I think the argument that could beat any argument from the Delayed Gratification folks is "But what if today really is the last day of my life". So I reached for the new bottle. And for a lousy day, at least I smelled nice.

Of course, I have now gone back to finish the old soap. Partly, because its the Right thing to do. Partly, because two big fat bottles competing for cramped space makes them susceptible to falling and spilling all that precious content.