Hotel soaps

If, like me, you were lucky enough to stay in a hotel as a child, you might just remember the joy of finding the free amenities. The hotel labelled pen, the bible in the drawer, but most importantly the tiny playsized bottles of shampoo and bodywash found in the bathroom. The little squares of soap, individually wrapped and practically doll size.  As a child, I loved these amenities. It didnt make bathtime more enjoyable, in fact I hated the weird scent of soap that wasnt really my own, but just the existence of these tiny scraps of cleanliness made me think of crazy scenarios to put my dolls through on the hotel floor.

As an adult, I will admit that every time I go to a hotel I bring these tiny vials home in my suitcase like treasures. Under what used to be my bathroom sink sat a basket that held little bottles of shampoo and guest soaps, serving both as memory of my travels and theoretically something to provide to the houseguests I never had.  I dreamt of having a friend of relative overnight and happily offering them their own tiny soap, shampoo and a clean towel and facecloth for all their bathing needs. Martha Stewart like in my hostess skills, I was, in theory prepared for any caliber of houseguest.  Only, for the past 8 years of my life, there was nary a single guest to be found.

Was I so friendless and familyless,the kind of ogre so unused to human custom that visiting was a foreign custom? No, it wasnt that. Was my house so unkempt,  so cluttered or downright dirty that the people in my life refused to overnight with me? One glance round would tell you that while definately lived in, the place was kept to a tidy standard, and was regularily and semi-thoroughly cleaned. No it wasnt the house and it wasnt me. See my husband didnt allow for overnight guests- preferring our door shuttered to visitors. The house was his kingdom and like any king gusrding his domain he preferred the invading troops sleep elsewhere. And to him, any potential guest was an invading troop, with never an ally to be found. 

As part of the due course of adult life, I traveled occasionally which led to collecting more free amenities. During the times when my little basket of travel sized goodies became overfull I skillfully sorted through them deciding which to keep. The rest I, in good consciousness, would donate to the food bank, the local shelter, anywhere I might happen to be going by whilst running my errands. I wanted to help people who needed it at a time when they were down and I was convinced my little stash of hotel soaps could give someone a little kindness.

Today I took my first shower in the abused women's shelter whose door I arrived at last night. I grabbed my daughters baby shampoo and tiny towels in my desperate and last minute bid to pack. The shelter warned me of limited space and that the amount of stuff I would be allowed to bring was, in fact, monitored. So, like any mom i focused on cramming our combined bags full of diapers, my daughters sippy cup and favourite book and as many of her things as I could fit. I brought a minimum number of items for myself, wanting to prioritize the needs of my baby whose world was about to turn upside down.

Those hotel soaps I once proudly carted out of my house? There are lots of them here. A whole bin full of tiny, sad shampoos and broken minuscule soaps, wrappers torn from people digging through the pile. But here they don't ring of vacation, travel and exciting plans. Here they only serve to remind me that I am not at home, that to return home is unsafe.  Here they remind me that I am the one in need of aid, and while I am grateful for the free warm shelter and the shower, here those tiny vials feel hopeless.