Many, many summers of my childhood were spent trudging through the sweltering streets of Williamsburg, Virginia. My Mother and Sister have a deep love of history, interior design, American Architecture, and Virginia. I, on the other hand, have a deep love of? Not those things.

Sara just finished studying Colonial America and was so jazzed at the possibility of visiting Jamestown and Williamsburg, I simply had to take her. Thank God we had the good sense to go in the Spring, as I found Williamsburg far more tolerable in April than in August. I have one, singular memory from these childhood forced marches through the Governor’s Palace: I wanted soap. Lavender Soap, to be specific, and I nagged my father until he bought me a singular bar of soap. It scented my stationery drawer for years, and became the beginning of my love of all old lady scents.

I’m all grown up now, so I took the girls in the soap store and splurged: THREE bars of lavender soap. As I paid for the soap, I was so happy, I told the cashier:

Me: I bought this exact same soap in this very store exactly 30 years ago!

Cashier (doing a horrible job feigning excitement): Oh really? How nice.

Me: I guess you could say it’s a tradition now. I buy lavender soap in Williamsburg every 30 years.

Sara: She’ll be back when she’s 72.

Me: Thanks Sara (insert Sara giggling at herself). I just had to get you that Math Tutor.

Sara: Your idea, not mine.

Kelly: What’s so funny and why are we buying so much SOAP?! Are we dirty? Can I leave this smelly store? It’s just SO…SMELLY!

Sara: We can go Kelly, but we’ll be back. When Momma is SEVENTY-TWO….

Me: That’s enough Einstein. Let’s go…