I’m not a big fan of aftershave. Or other ‘manly’ fragrances. I prefer to smell as God intended, of Carbolic. And I have the gentle Brothers of Convent School to thank for that. They clearly believed I was very dirty indeed.
T, however, is determined to have me smell ‘nice.’ I’m not entirely sure what’s she’s suggesting. She keeps buying me assorted scents; delivering them as gifts and imploring me to wear some. I do try. But, like so many things, herbal tea, pipe tobacco, housework, they’re only attractive when someone else is partaking. As soon as I wear even expensive cologne, I smell like cat wee. Doesn’t matter what brand I try, it’s always the same - I reek like a tramp who’s lived in a cattery for a decade or more.
T’s belief in their redeeming qualities is unshakable though. I believe she is working her way through every make on the planet is her search to find one that ‘suits’ me. It is not pleasant. The better ones simply keep flies away, the worst cauterise my nasal passages leaving me unable to smell anything for days. Sometimes it is a blessed relief.
So I have embarked on a strategy: I am pretending. Each day I sprinkle some ‘Eau de’ around the bathroom, open the window (for the sake of the cat) and proudly declare that I’m aftershave-tastic.
As with all great scientific advances, the placebo is at least as effective as the real thing and T is delighted. “Subtle isn’t it?” she coos.
So everyone is happy. And it’s removed all the limescale from the sink.
But 'T' has got to be grateful that you wear deodorant as that can be even more unpleasant. Cans on your desks please!
Posted by: Caryl | Friday, 04 April 2008 at 08:22 AM
That's true, Caryl. There's nothing worse than sitting next to someone that 'hums' in the office. Thank heavens we've never experiences that. Can you imagine?! ;-)
c
Posted by: Carlton | Monday, 07 April 2008 at 11:01 AM