SMELLING BAD

My apartment mate, as she sees it, has two objectives this evening. The first is to avoid getting bit by the mosquito, to which end she is now over in her room cowering under her mosquito net with a good book and stuffed animals. The second, which she will put off till tomorrow or later, is to find a bath soap or shwoer gel which makes me smell like a Chinese woman. See, when she noticed the mosquito in the teevee room, I told her I did not have to worry, as she was the one who smelled good, whereas I stink a bit. What with being white, male, and a smoker. So I'm fine. The mosquito wouldn't bother me.

She is probably jealous of my fine reek.

Part of which is because of work today.


At one end of the building cigar-chomping senile delinquents drooling into their oatmeal while watching the game, at the other a passel of pipe smokers holding meeting, as they do every month. With Scotch whisky and champagne, in addition to other substances of an edible or potable nature.


I, of course, am odourifically redolent of caffeine, nicotine, and Caucasianity.
Besides, what with being on various meds, I am not perfectly edible.
Sharks shy away from me in disgust.

The meeting went very well. The edibles included meaty materials, olives, bread, and some cheese. Bernard disquisitioned on Table Mountain and various places in his homeland, Nick shared an interesting Virginia-Perique flake with me, Calvin was there, looking a little older, and a few members who were absent despite still being among us were mentioned. Recent additions to the membership have lowered the average age, which is good.


A tin of the new C & D Sunbear was opened, an oxidized stem was made pristine again, some elegant old wood was loaded up. No slags were present, none of us went into the bathroom to snort cocaine, as we are not cigar men. Some of whom are very dubious.
That type, you know. Shouldn't take them anywhere. And they smell bad.



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