I know: I lead such a glamorous life. Yes, the big red-letter event is my staying home to create… what could it be? Yes, soapdishes. It’s called envy my friends, envy.
Yes indeed, the inaugural (eh, Margaret?) Craft Night yielded me two soapdishes. They took no time to make, but they’d been in my head since I saw something like this at my cousin’s house. (Hi, Claudia!)
This is how retardedly simple they are: cut some twigs. Mine were suckers from the base of a Crape Myrtle. Cut some vines. That Asiatic Jasmine finally came into some use! Bastard squatter has been overtaking at least half my yard since who knows when. Strip all the leaves off, and arm yourself with a glue gun. Incidentally, it’s part of the standard Southerner’s kit, a glue gun. Yep, glue gun, sweet tea, and a lifetime get-out-of-conversation-accountability by saying “Bless his heart” after anything mean. “He’s just so unbelievably dumb, bless his heart.” Works like a charm. That’s why it’s called Southern charm. Charm, y’all. Effing voo-doo.
Pick a length for your twigs and start cutting to size. I chose about 6 inches for my bathroom, since it’d house a full bar of soap as well as my nail brush. That is my all-time gardening secret. Well, that and not really caring what my nails look like. They’re ratty, but they’re clean.
Line up the twigs. I put two thicker twigs on the outsides, just cause it looked neat. Cut two cross bar twigs to be the feet of your dish. See, the whole point is to elevate your soap so it stops sitting in its own puddle on the counter or in the bowl of one of them storebought soapdishes. The soap just mushes up and disintegrates too fast if it never dries. And no one likes to sit in their own puddles, y’all.
Now squirt hot glue on a crossbar twig and carefully smash it onto the main body of twigs. Yes: carefully. Smash. You need the pressure of a smash, but the care not to scatter the twigs. You might want to add a diagonal twig for structure now, especially if not every twig sticks to the crossbar twigs. And believe me, although hot glue is my own personal object of worship, it’s not always 100%. Yes, my god is fallible. Your twigs will pop off. They will run away. The glue will harden too fast. Just peel it off and try to get most of the twigs in one go, then spot-glue the problem children. Just like in real life.
When I got to this point, I didn’t like how dense it looked, so I took out every other twig. In other news, I now had enough twigs for a second, if very sparse, dish. It’s only about 4 inches long, just barely long enough for a bar of Ivory.
Now the really fun part. I know! I was bored up until this part, too. The thrills and chills start here, folks. Start lashing around the twigs. Later on, we’re gonna learn about molars! This is where all those seasons of Survivor and Lost start to pay off. Sure, you want a rustic soapdish. But you want that sucker to look sea-worthy, too. I get ya.
I basically just did a whip stitch around a twig and a cross-twig. It looked sparse at the end of the row, so I doubled back and whip-stitched around just the cross-twig. Play with it. You’re not on the cover of Soapdish Monthly, so don’t worry about doing it “wrong.” Wait, are you? Cause I want some mufkin credit. Besides, it’s supposed to look like half-starved desperation fueled its creation. Go with it. I laced down the ends of my vine-lacing under the last loop, effectively using its own strength against it. That’ll show it. It won’t win awards, but it keeps the end hidden and mostly tidy. Mostly.
And that’s it. No more molten soap on my counter! Now I have to come up with other excuses for the counter being icky. Those were strategic soap blobs, you see.