Aftershave

Yesterday’s corner time: 1 Minute.

So, apparently I smell of pooh. This insightful and rather disturbing observation was made by Emily. This was definitely not the impression that I was hoping to make and unfortunately, I don’t think she was referring to Winnie.

This was during a walk in the woods and when we got back home, I first checked the underneath of my shoes before rushing upstairs to check my brand of aftershave, or rather Dad’s.

No mention of pooh on the label. Perhaps, I hadn’t administered enough. So, just to be sure, I doused myself with the remaining half a bottle. Now, just let anyone accuse me of smelling of pooh.

“You smell of pooh”, volunteered Emily again as I strode confidently into the kitchen, flammable aftershave fumes trailing behind me. Dad immediately screamed for everyone to get as far away from me as possible and that under no circumstances, should anyone light a match.

Things had moved on quite dramatically from being told that I smelt of pooh to being a potential explosive fire hazard. Aunty Su, who was also visiting at the time, was all for phoning the fire brigade but Mum quickly hid the phone.

I glared at Emily as I was marched outside and made to stand down wind from everyone else. She smiled knowingly back and mouthed the word “pooh” through the glass patio doors.

The course of true love rarely runs smoothly and whoever charted this particular course needs a new compass.

Matthew.

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