There’s this family story. I barely remember the incident, other than experiencing a feeling of immense pride at my exploit, right up until my mother’s reaction, which was one of extreme horror. It wasn’t the first time I had evoked that reaction, and it wouldn’t be the last.
One day when I was about 3 or 4 years old, my mother was out in the driveway washing the family car. I was toddling around in the yard, enjoying the sun, when I noticed her pour a pretty blue liquid into a bucket, and then add water from the hose. Suddenly there were bubbles. Cooooool! Right then and there, I decided I wanted that pretty blue liquid. So while my mother was squatting down to scrub the tire rims, I walked over to the bottle, picked it up, looked at my mom, and smiled. For some reason I thought she would be thrilled at what I was about to do. Then I tipped the bottle to my lips and, I’m told, chugged it down like a sailor’s first bottle of rum after a long stretch at sea.
Sadly, the family story is a bit vague on the details at this point. I’m not sure what my reaction was once I had actually tasted Wisk Detergent. I had a reputation of being rather finicky, so I can’t imagine I received it very well. I also don’t know what my mother’s exact response was, but I do have a vague memory of a jarring change in mood from pride to fear. Then the story jumps forward to me in the kitchen, witnessing my mother’s hysterical call to the Poison Control Center.
As told by my family, this tale has a happy ending. Apparently Poison Control told my mom that at this moment in time, if I absolutely insisted on drinking detergent, Wisk was the one detergent on the market that would not result in dire consequences. The end.
I’m quite sure there was more to it. Probably a hospital visit, or copious vomiting, or both, but the family prefers to leave it at the happy, poison-free ending. And because of this, for the first 30 years of my life I used Wisk Detergent. After all, it had saved my life. For all I know, the formula may have changed over the years, making it less of a darling amongst the poison control set, but I was going to use Wisk, and nothing but Wisk, so help me God.
I wish my version of events could have such a pat conclusion. I wish I could say that I’m still using Wisk to this very day. Cue the orchestral crescendo and off I walk into the sunset. Unfortunately, though, at age 30, I developed this agonizing full body itch that would not go away no matter what I did. Finally my acupuncturist suggested I try a different laundry detergent because when one uses the same product for so many years, the body can build up toxic levels of who knows what, and will finally protest in strange ways, such as making you itch so badly that you seriously consider flaying off all of your skin. And sure enough, within 3 days of switching to a hypoallergenic product that is vegetable based rather than petroleum based, my body was back to normal.
So now every time I do my laundry, I have a vague feeling that I’m cheating on Wisk, my savior. Like a divorce that was amicable, I still recommend it to people, but just can’t have it in my life. Call it irreconcilable differences. So, Wisk, thank you for my life, and I’m sorry you are no longer in it. It wasn’t you. It was me.
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