Member-only story
The Astonishing Reason Because You Would Be Proud to Have a Witch Mother
My Mom “The Enchantress,” a hilarious fictional story
My mother gave me a liquid hand soap.
I put it in front of the mirror. It smelled good.
I didn’t know exactly why, but it penetrated me to the bone marrow.
It was like a spell. I couldn’t get away from it. I told myself that it was one of the few fragrances that can enjoy all tastes: men, women, and LGBTQIA+.
I first noticed something special but strange in the soap when I sat on the toilet and began my symphony of winds and percussion. Usually, it smelled, I say, stank. But this time, it had the aroma of rose petals, mixed with scents of apples, citrus, and finally some wood. “Fuck, I thought to myself,” what happened here?
The other oddity was when I washed my hands with my wife’s gift smartwatch. It seemed as if the clock was happy when I washed my hands. Twenty seconds were enough for it to say: “bravo, you have it”!
But when soap came into my life, the clock ticked one minute, and from there until the countdown moved, it was a complication. I was there for up to 3 minutes a day. I had to stop the process because I was late for work.
