Bon semblable, bon frere

I love the name, redolent of a francophilic American yesteryear. I love the design, with the little yellow friend who has, as yet, to scratch. Most of all, I love the sheer absence of modern-day bugaboos: chlorine, dyes, and perfumes.

But I've just attempted to clean the shower with said yellow friend, and must thereby, however feebly, express my displeasure.

Perhaps I'm asking too much of mon ami; perhaps I should limit my aspirations to that most charming of Franco-American pastimes, cleaning copper pennies in the garage. But no, "SHOWERS" are listed right there among the "USES" on the Bon Ami website, along with crystal candle holders and fiberglass campers.

To be fair, my shower is "cleaner" now, but that's hardly saying much: that paticular bar was set quite low. The shower tiles, even at their cleanest, are a distinctive shade of 1982 orangish-brown, which contrasts most unfavorably with the filmy white residue mon ami has left behind. ("Oh, the shower's not dirty," I hastily inform our houseguest, "it's just coated in a fresh layer of joie de vivre.")

Granted, my efforts at rinsing the stuff off were perfunctory at best (a Stonyfield Farms Joghurtbecher filled with tapwater and splashed lazily against the tiles), but still, can't I expect more for my 89 cents?