Although I successfully made it through childhood and adolescence without getting my mouth washed out with soap, I have not been as fortunate as of late. Take yesterday morning, for example. I reached for a small travel-sized plastic bottle of mouthwash that I refill with green Listerine when needed and took a swig. Given that it was morning and not all of my synapses had commenced firing and being a descendant of the Poohmillers (my grandfather shortened it to Miller when he came to America) and therefore a bear of very little brain, it took me a moment after swish-swish to realize something was not right. I looked at the small unmarked bottle. It was green but it looked a little thin, not as vibrant as usual.

Did somebody water this down, I wondered?

Either way it tasted terrible. When I opened my mouth to spit it out, the puzzle was solved: a golf ball sized bubble mockingly floated out of my mouth before the ample discharge.

Being a descendant of detective Columbo on the other side of my family, I put one and one together and got to the bottom of what turned out to be a case of self-tampering with an unknown liquid substance. I remembered that I had only recently refilled the small bottle from the large bottle stored under the sink — apparently the large bottle of green liquid soap. The good news is I haven’t had to brush for two days.

It reminds me of the time I was staying at the home of one of my sisters. About to step into the shower, I removed my glasses and set them on the counter top to the left of the sink. I proceeded into the shower, turned the water on and then realized there was soap but no shampoo. I stepped out of the shower, opened the cupboard under the sink and, because I was wet, quickly grabbed a bottle of golden shampoo, and hopped back into the shower. I washed with soap, then poured the shampoo into my hand and rubbed it into my hair.

Now I have used shampoos that smell like coconut, like watermelon, like lavendar, like apple. I have used shampoos with the scent of banana, licorice, cinnamon, and apricot. But never have I used such a malodorous shampoo as this.

Why in the world, I thought, would anybody use such a foul smelling shampoo. Are you kidding me! I’ve got to ask Maureen why, of all the brands and scents on the market, why this godawful one.

I rinsed my hair, then rewashed it with the aromatic bar of soap. I turned the shower off. Before drying, I grabbed the bottle of shampoo and brought it close to read the label. But the print was so faint and I am so visually challenged these days without my glasses that I couldn’t read the label. I dried off, put on my glasses and, to appease my curiosity, reached into the shower for the golden shampoo. The golden dog shampoo.

That was a few years ago now and I still have an affinity for squeaky toys and occasionally find myself lifting my leg around fire hydrants, and barking at squirrels, though on the positive side I haven’t had a case of the fleas (at least not a bad one) since 2006. They say What you see is what you get. But they never bother to tell you what you don’t see is also what you get. So I’m telling you. You’re welcome.

If you came today looking for spiritual inspiration or wise counsel or a Lenten reflection, I apologize. If it makes you feel any better, remember, dog is God spelled backwards. Woof. Woof.