Bars

I believe that having an inquisitive child can give people fresh insight into the bizarre quirks of the world and language, by forcing parents to come up with explanations for things that they have long forgotten the absurdity of. Having not yet left childhood myself, I need no such aid! The following anecdote will serve as proof for this.

The other day, after just having emptied my bladder, I continued the bathroom ritual normally and arrived at the sink to wash my hands with -
Wait... What is that soapy thing called that I spread on my hands? A brick? A block? A pat? A soap? For some reason the word "bar" comes to mind, but certainly that can't be it. A bar is cylindrical and long, a different shape entirely from the cuboid of soap in front of me. I legitimately stood in front of the sink for a solid 10 seconds, trying to remember what these objects were called.

Leave it to the germanic languages to just call everything "bar" that they cant think of a better word for; the Greeks were right about us after all. Bar of soap, iron bar, sand bar; lets go to the bar to get some ba- er... beer! And pity be to the soul who tries to follow along with the supreme abstract elegance of programming tutorials, where "bar" crops up about every third word, substituting for anything that – god forbid – might have some kind of concrete meaning or connotation.

But I digress from the truly important point.
A rod made of soap might be kind of cool. To get soap on your hands using an actual soap bar, you wring the bar. Importantly, lathering up your back during a bath is a much simpler process with this item than the usual acrobatic feat; simply swing the bar around and rub it on your back much in the way you would use a back scratcher. Please note that I have filed a patent for the soap rod, so no need to try anything rash.