The Carrohan family from Johnsonville, Wellington, are having a bittersweet send-off ceremony today for the yellow bar of Palmolive soap that has been sitting on the windowsill in the kitchen for nearly three decades.
Patriarch of the family William Carrohan inherited the intense bar of semi-immortal soap from his mother’s house after she passed away in 1991, where it had washed hands by the dozen
Taking up pride of place above the kitchen sink, the indestructible harsh-smelling soap has sat in a puddle of hard bubbles of its own making in a little dish, before the last sliver of soap finally vanished forever after a particularly vigorous hand-scrubbing from Mr. Carolan, after a session of gardening.
“It has to be said, my wife Maud fucking hated that thing,” said William, in a touching ceremony to commemorate the years of service put in by the bar of Palmolive.
“But look at all it did for us; it scrubbed the fuck out of our hands, it scrubbed the fuck out of our children’s hands, it lasted longer than my last four cars. Whatever you had on your hands, it got it off and it did so with a smell of pure urinal cake. I’ll miss you, soap. Good luck down the plughole, try to not poison too many fish in the surrounding countryside”.
With the Palmolive Soap now gone, the title of oldest product in the Carrohan house now passes to a can of Chelsea Golden Syrup from 1976.