Jeb by Chris Woodward

Jeb, the puddle of shampoo, thought about his own existence, mainly. He had come to a few conclusions about his time on your shower stall floor. First, Jeb was sure that he wasn’t the only puddle of shampoo that had an internal monologue or consciousness. But he wasn’t certain if they questioned themselves incessantly like Jeb did. He knew that there might a grand reason for his being. He had the right make up for something larger than just being a puddle. For Jung’s sake, he even had a nice apple scent. There must be some usefulness for it. But Jeb was also a realist in that he realized despite his inherent talents and dreams and wishes, he’s going to have to settle with what is practical at the moment and that includes being a small puddle of shampoo in your bathroom. He doesn’t mind being the puddle but it doesn’t satisfy him as something else might.

Jeb knew for a hard, cold fact that this is a cruel, unrelenting world that if you’re not careful you’ll end up like that puddle of conditioner. Had Jeb the proper glands to produce the tears, he surely would have cried each time he thought of the poor puddle of conditioner. Jeb remembered that fateful morning all too well. It was the morning that started Jeb, the puddle of shampoo, down the path of existentialism. You were in the shower singing that awful Bee Gees song and getting clean like usual and Jeb was there in the corner of the shower stall getting doused every now and then by sprays of water. Jeb quivered because he liked the sprays and wished he could be out further to get their full brunt. It was then that Jeb noticed the puddle of conditioner by the drain. Oh man, how that conditioner looked happy! It was getting all swirled around by the water and it looked like the best thing in the world to Jeb. Until the next instant when the puddle slipped into the drain and was gone. Jeb felt as if the last leaf had just fallen to the ground on the most beautiful tree he’d ever seen. Jeb wanted to cry to the Heavens, if they were there (Jeb hadn’t quite pinned that down yet). Jeb huddled in his corner gurgling sadness. He didn’t know the name of that puddle of conditioner but he was sure it was the most musical and gorgeous name in existence.

Jeb came to the conclusion that day that life was far too short and he needed to figure out the answers if not for him, but for the unnamed puddle of conditioner for his life was far too short. Jeb, the existential puddle of shampoo sits there to this day pondering all the great philosophical questions; his apple scent wafting around and his transparent, red-tinted gel-like body rippling with thought. Jeb was still wondering about God when you came in with your cleaning spray and sponge. Jeb wondered if God was beautiful or if he didn’t care about a lonely puddle of shampoo when you washed him down the drain. Jeb, the existential puddle of shampoo, is no more.