The Superpower I Can't Prove

Why I Don't Refill the Soap (Messed-Up But Managing #23)

At some point in my life as a young man, I can’t tell you exactly when or pinpoint the date, I seem to have subconsciously developed a superpower or, at the least, the belief that I have a superpower. It’s not flying or invisibility or making cans of Liquid Death’s “Rest in Peach” Iced Tea grow on trees, although I’d probably take the latter over the first two if given the option. Actually, my superpower is more refined, more elegant, and more mysterious. It’s this: I am able to refill soap dispensers by simply being near them. Hear me out.

When the bathroom soap runs out, I don’t panic. That’s not me. I don’t go to the store. That’s not in my skillset. I don’t scream into a pillow. That’s not who I am. After using the restroom, I simply walk up, place my hand on the soap dispenser, and begin this incredibly sacred ritual: Pump. Pump. Pump. And after the fourth or fifth pump of wheezing air and soap spittle, I know it’s time.

So, I close my eyes, get some water on my hands as though I’m washing them, then walk away. That’s it. And what’s wild is: the soap knows I was there. And that always seems to be enough. Because, like clockwork, by morning, it’s full again. It’s fresh. It’s bubbly. It’s strong of scent. The dispenser is, once again, ready for action. I give it a few test pumps and voila. I knew it’d come through. And I go about my business.

Listen, I don’t ask questions anymore either. That’s right. I don’t waste time checking the cabinets. That’s not how superpowers work y’all. Nobody questions Spider-Man about his webbing supply. Nobody interrogates Superman about how he files taxes. We all just accept the greatness. And it should be the same for me, shouldn’t it?!

I realize there are some people, some skeptics, out there. These types will try to suggest a different theory. They’ll say, “Bruh, ever think that maybe your wife is refilling it?” And to those people I say, “How dare you?!” I mean, what kind of twisted, warped, messed-up theory is that? Isn’t it much more likely that I have superpowers or that the soap is sentient?

It is true, of course, that one time my wife went out of town for several days and the soap ran out. It stayed empty the entire time. But that was just a test. The soap was testing me. The fact that it refilled the exact same day she returned is purely coincidental. Don’t try to steal my shine here!

People tell me to just refill it myself. What?! Do I look like I own a soap refinery? No. Do I like I’ve got time to go on a Walmart run? No. That, my friends, is precisely why I will honor the ritual. It has worked for decades. I will approach the empty dispenser, offer my tribute of several pumps and trust in the process.

And that’s exactly what it is. It’s not laziness. It’s faith. It’s trusting the process. And I’ve always been good about that. That’s good work ethic. It’s the same thing with the laundry: it will move itself from the washer to the dryer if go near it then wait long enough. It’s the same with the trash: it will walk itself to the curb if I simply pass by it then wait. This is the core of male belief and existence. We don’t do things. We wait and will them into existence. Some men just haven’t realized they have the superpower yet.

But somehow, every time, it happens. It just does. It works out for me. The soap returns. And when it does, I don’t even say thank you. That’s not how this works. I give a silent nod to the heavens then lather up. Because my superpower is real, even if my wife disagrees.