There is a segment of our population that tends to be more obtuse than the rest. They tend to ignore things that are obvious, don’t take hints very well, and are often oblivious to what is going on until it’s too late or no longer matters.
I am of course talking about men. I am a man. And I fit the above bill. Pun almost intended.
So here’s the thing. Having said all of that, I do have some plugged-in moments. There are times when I feel my senses are tingling much like Spider-man, where my reflexes are razor-sharp as well as my wit. Okay, these occasions are no longer as bountiful as they once were. Perhaps should take up Sudoku or something to improve ny intellect.
All of this to set up this evening’s scenario. Lately I have been enjoying baths more than showers. My weary bones respond better to the enveloping warmth and caress of hot water. some bubble bath, soothing heavy metal or oldies emanating from my blue-tooth speaker. We have an antique oak chair that fits perfectly in our bathroom. When bathing, I like to draw it close to the tub, both as a place to put my clothes and towel, and as an aid to get out of the tub afterwards (I did mention I was getting older, right?) Occasionally my wife will sit on said chair instead and we will banter about our days, while bubbles cleverly conceal certain parts of me. You know, in case the dogs look in.
And there I was this evening, relaxing in the heat of the water, listening to Elton John, when something struck me. I wasn’t quite sure what it was. For sure it was a foul odour, but from what?
I will be honest; it was pretty stinky. It smelled, at least to me, like something that had been used to wipe the wrong end of a Rhino. Pungent and wild. I looked around for what could be the source. Had one of our dogs dropped by and left a surprise? Nope. Had another family done the same? (it is, after all, the bathroom) Again, no.
As I have aged, anpther thing I have come to enjoy are slippers. In particular, leather Roots slippers with rubber soles. I will tell you, you can do anything in these babies. I have gone 4-wheeling with them. Cut the grass. Taken naps. Taken out the garbage. Walked the dogs. Gone shopping. And it was thee slippers from whence the foul odour was emanating.
The oblivious, obtuse individual I bantered about above is of course me. Having worn these slippers for years, I treated them like slippers. Never imagining they can stink like shoes and boots. And since they were on the floor normally I never really took a good whiff. But this time, sitting SO close t my facial level and more in particular my proboscis, I caught it full and au naturel.
What concerned me more than the fact that they were really officious was the fact that nobody had bothered to tell me. I mean, there is NO WAY that they just started doing this/ At least no at this nuclear level. This was lethal. You could weaponize this. I could sell it to th military and never work another day in my life, all the gold and jewels at my finger tips.
I asked Anne if she had noticed they were ;a bit stinky’ and the look she gave me is one recognized by men around the world who ask their significant other a rather obtuse question, the look conveying the term ‘no shit, Sherlock’ better than any Thespian could. So. My favourite sippers were ripe. I was devastated.
So as I write this, sitting here with the same slippers on, I will tell you I am not completely obtuse. They are downwind.
Bill's Musings 