I'm convinced that softsoap was invented by some mom who was tired of the dentist bills after constantly chipping the teeth of her foul-mouthed children.
I can just imagine her joy the next time after that one of the kids dropped an F-bomb out in the sandbox.
In my mind, I always see her face light up in a smile upon hearing such talk, which is followed by her exploding off her lawn chair, leaving her sunglasses, iced tea, and Good Housekeeping in the dust, and frollicking into the house.
Moments later, the back door swings open loudly, casting a wide shadow, and—softsoap in hand—mom approaches the kids briskly and intently like the Terminator.
She grabs the offending child by the hair on the back of his head, pulls his head back, and starts pumping in a half-dozen or so squirts of soap right before making some sort of cold-toned witticism, like "Don't forget to rinse," and then drops her kid to the ground before walking back to her lawn chair and resuming her afternoon.