I make things. (Obviously.)
Sometimes I myself wonder whether I'm so cheap, so crazy or so freaking creative, trying to find a reason why I bother. I suspect the real reasons are two: it is indeed cheaper to make things and... it's fun.
Ladies and gentlemen, let me present you my soap. Last week, I boiled some lye in bad oil to see how it works, threw the stinky thing away content that chemistry is the same as ever, took good oil and more lye and cooked it until yellow. Since I'm not much of an expert in technology, I just left the matter sit in the pot and it hardened. I should have added the fragrances and stuff before it would harden and pour it in a mold but I did not so I needed to use the other technology - soak, chop, knead, let dry.
Pot of soap, knife, board, perfumes, namely Eau du Calvados, Mahora with an addition of some myrtle cologne, Boucheron's Jaïpur in extrait and limited edition bottle, Santa Maria Novella's Cuoio di Spagna
After having finely chopped the crude soap, I added some hazelnut oil and divided the 'dough' in approximately equal bits.
I made little depressions in each of the soap balls and poured in a not-really-carefully measured amount of fragrance, now they look almost edible. Then I kneaded until even.
The soap bars with fingerprints of yours truly are now sitting on my fugly blue plastic carving board and drying - there will be some pictures later on. It is a gift for my mother and if she doesn't like it, she's getting itchy woolen socks for the rest of her life.