Figs, wanted and unwanted

Another post reviewing the oddities of scent and mind.

There is an outfit by the name of Upper Canada soap company, and I am about to write about one and only one product of theirs, and I am not going to be happy about it.  Not because it did not perform as it should--it certainly did--nor because it did not smell as advertised.  That it did, too.

It's just that nobody warned me dish soap could smell like perfume.  That's right, folks; we're going on an inverse to the usual trope you'll find in perfume chat.  My issue was not that a perfume smelled like soap.  My issue was that a (dish) soap smelled like perfume.

Aldehydic perfume.

Perhaps you've not been here often, or perhaps I've somehow gently phrased and backed into my thoughts on aldehydes enough that it my come as some surprise to you that this should be an issue for me.  But trust me, I rarely like bubbles in my nose unless they are gen-you-wine bubbles from a semi-dry sparkling wine or in a perfectly drawn bath.  If I find the smell of perfume accosting me in my dish pan, tormenting me with every scrub of a pot, every swish of a dish, well...I am Not Happy.

Add in to that my vein of frugality that says "this stuff is working perfectly well and clearly does the job you asked it to do and nobody is really going to say thank you to a gift of used dish soap so you'd better suck it up and use the resource" and you end up with a rather displeased dishwasher.

Did I mention that the dish soap also performed so well the generous sized bottle lasted and lasted?  Thank you, Upper Canada, for manufacturing such an efficacious product.

(Thank you, wonderfully robust English language, for offering me an honest word of praise that allows me to say something so close to "effing" at the same time.  ALDEHYDES, I tell you!!!)

My bottle is finally, FINALLY, gone.

I have now moved on to Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day dish soap, Basil scent.  Riddle me this, Batman:  Why would a candy version of basil, something that I might find cloying in a perfume, please me so much in my kitchen sink?  Does it benefit from being held against the aldehydic terror perfumey fig that was the Upper Canada offering?

Am I okay with candy in the kitchen, but not perfume?  It is true; I never like to spray perfume in the kitchen, not even when I have my hot mitts (as in my eager hands, not my protective gear) on a fresh package from the mail that I know contains the latest something....

Sorry, Upper Canada.  I promise I will try another offering.  After all, I can see that on a value per penny basis, yours is a good choice.  I also see that no online source offers the fig scent, so maybe there's a reason I found my bottle at the closeout store.

Wash on.

***
Don't feel too sorry for me.  There is such a thing as a happy fig.

As it turns out, it's not a perfume, either.

images, including bite mark, author's own