CHEMISTRY AND CUPS OF TEA

Because I read one article with three minutes of avid interest, the algorithms are convinced that I am a smelly old person of whichever gender and will wash myself with special soap, if they just keep hammering it home. According to advertisers, the elderly exude a particular musty unpleasant odour which Japanese people find objectionable, but for which they have thankfully come up with a solution. It turns out that the tannins in persimmon bond with a chemical I exude, which covers my entire body. And my clothes. And even the walls in my apartment. Plus everything I touch, and the helpful staff at the hospital, the tables, chairs, and airducts at the bingo hall, and even the very air I breathe. Persimmon.

Now half the ads on my feed are for persimmon soap.
Lovely orange bars and boxes.
Persimmon.

Remember when tea-tree oil was all the rage? Turns out it was a waste of time. What old fossils actually need is persimmon soap. Soon every dessicated old git will smell April fresh, because they bathed with persimmon soap. And splashed with persimmon after bath lotion. And laundered with persimmon grease solvent. Why, even the crepe-like wrinkled old wattles of their underarms and breasts have tightened up and no longer stink! Those two or three folds where their buttocks join the fatty inner thigh? Gone! It's persimmon!


Thank you, magic algorithm, now piss off. Two weeks ago you were still telling me all my problems would go away if I used cauliflower pizza crust. And cauliflower substituted for pasta or rice. And pastries made with cauliflower.

So what does a middle aged Dutch American do on a day when it's raining? And his internet feed insists that he buy persimmon soap? He goes out to lunch at a place where most of the customers are elderly (doesn't notice a smell), has curry chicken and rice very Hong Kong style (咖喱雞飯 'gaa lei gai faan'), with hot sauce and some nice sliced Jalapeños (切嘅尖辣椒 'chit ge tsim laat jiu') and a cup of milk tea (杯奶茶 'pui naai chaa'). Then loads up a pipe with aged Virginia tobacco and steps outside with his umbrella like a civilized person.

On rainy days I tend to favour my old Peterson pipes, several of which date from the day when K&P still had a London location. So four decades ago. Nice old briar. Classics. That finish they had then, rather than the dramatic and sometimes flashy effect they do now.
Pipes that radiate gravitas, good taste, solid values. The very epitome of NOT vulgar.

柿子
['chi ji']

You know what would help alleviate the reek of your old man tobacco? Persimmon soap. It's medicated and triple milled, rich in vitamins A, C, and E, with natural antibacterial properties. Helps counter 2-nonenal (an unsaturated aldehyde which smells like aged beer), associated with the body odour of retired people, as well as various compounds in tobacco smoke.

Afterwards did my grocery shopping, keeping in mind that some places in Chinatown will be closed in the middle of next week because of New Year. So I have enough of various essentials to tide me over, including noodles and hot sauce. Plus dry snackies.
Also bought some mangoes for the elderly Indonesian woman downstairs.

All three of the old Chinese American gentlemen I often see around teatime on Wednesdays showed up at the bakery, shortly before I left, having gotten there early. The charming little tyke with her mommy, somehow part of the owners extended family, were also there.
As well as her grandfather. No, I didn't notice even a hint of aged beer aroma.
Despite all the severely antiquated people.

I wonder if they use persimmon soap?



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