Do you ever go into your shower and find that your Husband appears to be using the smallest possible sliver of soap that anyone could ever use? Like something that literally must require him to hold it with a tweezer? I'll be cleaning his shower and see these tiny, miniscule, micro slivers of Irish Spring, so tiny, in fact, that if you go to pick them up, they just kind of dissolve.
Because that's so much easier than just saying to your wife:
"Honey, buy some soap."
(Or, heaven forbid, "Is there more soap?" to which the answer tends to be: "Yes, it's with all of the other extra soap, in that magical place called a "closet" which is where we keep the soap.")