Mortality

I'm always sad when my bottle of bathroom tile spray is getting low. Barely two weeks before, its stream was strong and confident. Gradually that power dissipates, until squuezing the nozzle illicits little more than impotent squirts that don't reach the wall, dribbling to the tub, useless, humiliated.
Has anyone considered what a sponge must feel like once it's been used frequently? Again, once colorful, ready to absorb, its appearance changes to some kind of dark, sticky critter with a bad fragrance, unceremoniously dumped in the garbage.
Can we discuss soap slivers? Is there anything more pathetic looking? What began as a hard, sturdy cake transforms into slim, slippery, eroded paste. You feel guilty over how you've abused it and never throw them out, piling them in transparent cases left in the garage or basement, waiting for mold to form.
Bottles, sprays, powders-think of an almost empty can of Ajax, pounding the bottom to get the last few crumbs-all suffer the same fate. Toothpaste and shampoo are especially difficult to utilize when they're on their last legs. They actually come in contact with your person and squeezing the last drops out is agonizing. Conversely, no one cares about a roll of toilet paper running out. Roll-on deodorant is sneaky. One day its in full control, releasing plenty of stuff. Then, suddenly, you roll and ...nothing but dryness. You feel abandoned, similar to loss of a beloved friend.
I'm still getting over the disintegration of my mop. I owned it for countless years and it served me well. Now it is blackened and shredded, something a zombie might consume. Everything has a shelf life. Only God goes on forever. And certain kidney beans.