Decide you want to make glycerin soap! Research, read, find a recipe. Painstakingly grate your soap up. Add the ethanol and put on the stove.
Child demands milk. You dump everything else in and go downstairs; soap pot burns. Spouse takes it off the heat and everyone goes to bed.
Next day, persevere! Put it in the oven on low and add more ethanol. What's the flashpoint again? Turn down the oven.
Soap overflows the pot and drips all over the bottom of the stove. Did you know that burning soap smells... like soap, but ON FIRE? Open all the windows. Scrape incinerated soap off oven floor, racks, and door. Go to bed again.
Next day, put it in the oven on low again. Baby nurses until 11 PM. Go to bed.
Soap sits on the counter, and sits and sits and sits. Spouse gives it baleful looks every morning.
Once again, put it in the oven on low. Soap overflows again. Spouse swears extensively and scrapes the soap off the oven bottom. Again.
Come up from nursing the baby. Put it back in the oven, which smokes. It's 10:30 already, so put the bread in. Will the bread taste like burnt soap? Who knows. Turn the oven up and open all the windows. Again.
Add some more ethanol. Look up the autoignition temperature of 95% ethanol. Turn the oven down.
Look dubiously at the soggy mess, and add some more water. Decide to follow the !@#$ recipe next time. Turn the oven back up.
Stay up until almost midnight dealing with the accursed soap. Regret the impulse. Vow to wait until the children go to college before you try again.