You read it right! I’m blaming Apolo. I blame him for his god-awful charisma, boyish good looks and alien mouth complete with 50 blindingly white, perfectly symmetrical and unusually hypnotic teeth. Damn you Ohno, damn you for making us care about speed skating! Look, it makes perfect sense. For 2 weeks he was everywhere, wooing us with his charm. Once the Olympics were over it was a no-brainer that an evil backlash would occur. Those who were drawn deep into those pearly whites must’ve had an unexpected withdrawal. Yup, that’s it, Cathy had some sort of post-traumatic Ohno withdrawal, and she took it out on me.
What can I say? I’m a
Seriously, I work
She didn’t have to say it. I mean, she was probably right to say it; it’s just that she should’ve said something else first, anything, an icebreaker. Something like, “My, the floors look nice,” or “My, your biceps look huge today.” Honestly, I could think of a hundred pleasant ways to say hello. Now don’t take this out of context, I don’t need to be praised every day, but Tuesday was different. Tuesday I was on top of my game. Chores were done, laundry folded, the house was clean and I was feeling pretty good. That is until Cathy walked through door and said, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what is that god awful smell?” Startled, I turn around to find her pointing an indignant finger at me choking out the sentence, “Did you just take a bath in a tub of homeless feet and skunk meat?” I didn’t know what to say, I was at a loss of words really. What was her problem, why was she mad and more importantly, what in the world was she smelling? Looking over at my wife, who had suddenly keeled over and was now beginning to dry-heave and drool all over the dining room floor, it hit me. I wasn’t happy about it, but I understood- - I understood.
Imagine you’re home alone, pushing through a box of wine and watching reruns of The Ghost Whisperer on TBS. You’ve just changed out of your professional clothes and into that disgustingly-comfy, stained and tattered I’m not leaving the house outfit that screams either “I’m homeless,” “I’m crazy,” or “I’m homeless, because my imaginary dog Keith convinced me to sell my sneezes in front of the post office.” Everything’s perfect, ‘cause your happy, and you’re happy ‘cause you’re relaxed and because you’re relaxed, you fart.
Don’t be ashamed, or act like you’ve never put a stinky in the couch, because you have. And yes, it’s understood that the first one will always be a dynamic toe-curler with the slight undertones of boiled frog and molasses. But after that, you’re pretty much immune and unfazed by any other smell or flatulent that may occur during that particular session. On the other hand, this little theory does not apply to the occasional passerby, unexpected guest or loved one who happens to walk into your O-zone depleting, nose hair singeing, ghost-of-dinners-past cloud of death. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
Every bit of pungent vapor you produce actually gets stronger and more obtrusive to every other human on this planet. And rests assure this holds true for ALL smells. For this reason alone, walking into a situation like this can be a real character builder. Honestly, this can be an emotionally haunting experience between friends, or a hysterical chance encounter by strangers. The key is figuring out how to maintain a certain amount of empathy in this potentially delicate situation. It would be rude to so quickly accuse someone of violating the strict EPA regulations in regards to personal /community pollution without all the facts. The assailant could very well have a serious medical condition.
Now, back to Tuesday…
I watched in horror as Cathy alternated between an uncontrollable spastic-gyration, the fetal position and demonic accusations that included, but were not limited to, “Are you burning a wet dog?” and “Did you mop the floors with hot milk and tuna?” I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, none-the-less I was insulted. Who does she think she is, kickin' down the door and condemning me of foul play? How rude. All I’ve done today is everything! She had no right to assume that I was responsible in any way, shape or form for the horrendous odor wafting through this house. Sure, I was wearing my soft polyester track suit, and yes I was halfway through my cardboard encased wine, and yes the girls and I were confined alone in a house after an odd broccoli and bean lunch, so what! I was sorry, truly sorry that she had to experience that, but I mopped the floors and folded laundry! I deserve some recognition. I deserve to be validated, but more importantly I deserve to relax.