If there was one thing I did not want (and my tiny bathroom certainly did not want) it was a squat, fat, pump dispenser of body lotion. Having lately taken to purchasing super duper, economy sizes of lotion not equipped with such dispensers, I needed one. But with only miniscule bathroom shelf space available, the dispenser had to be tall and skinny to squeeze itself into the tiny, allotted space.
Bath shop stores exhibited zero concern for my requirements. There wasn’t a single dispenser that could be called either skinny or tall, let alone both at the same time.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t live without such an object.’ My current gargantuan lotion bottle did afterall come with a dispenser that flipped up. But the bottle was heavy and unwieldy. And the plastic was too rigid to effectively control the lotion flow. Compressing it so the right amount of lotion poured out was always an awkward proposition.
About that time I was prowling through a discount houseware store searching for a spaghetti pot, my old one having had the audacity to bite the dust after a mere three decades of loyal service. Not having visited the store for a while, I took a quick stroll through the aisles to see if there was anything new. And that’s when I spotted it. And knew instantly I had found my perfect lotion dispenser. Smack in the middle of a condiment container display, it was a tall, skinny, milky white plastic bottle I had seen all my life in countless coffee shops and diners. Turn the bottle over, give it a little squeeze and presto–a blob of ketchup or mustard squirted onto your hamburger or hot dog. And it was that soft squeezability that made it perfect for its new purpose.
My new mustard bottle is now filled with pale green, mango, shea butter lotion. Its shape and size fit comfortably in my palm. Pleasantly tactile, the container is extremely pliable. One quick squeeze and it gently ejects precisely the desired blurb of lotion.
At first I didn’t like the fact the screw top has a tiny opening that conjures up negative possibilities (read creepy crawly things–which had frankly also concerned me in its’ ketchup-mustard days). But I assured myself the opening is miniscule, plus at too odd an angle for any foreign entities to try gaining entry. And so far, playing the optimist and never checking with my close-up glasses, that’s been the happy case.
Another practical grooming tip: Shampoo your Hands — Spare your cash.