Tuesday, September 22, 2026

STINKY PILLOW

My apartment mate and I went out to dinner. During which she alerted me to a new terror, one which is disconcerting all of her stuffed creatures, and is most fearsome and to be dreaded. I, of course, was entirely unaware of its existence. I had never heard of it.
But now I know, I shall be wary. New pillow smell.

New. Pillow. Smell.

If you are sensitive to odours this is something to fear. Halfway between stack of plastic bags and something vaguely oceanic in origin. But if you are a pipesmoker, like me, even burying your snoot in it and inhaling deeply, when she upon returning home fetches it out of her room for presentation and sniff-testing, will not yield bupkes. Okay. Smells clean.
Like the laundry I did today.

In some minor way it makes her occasionally refering to me as "stinky man" a little more understandable. I have never actually thought of myself in those terms, but given that as a smoker my sense of smell might not be optimum, fully functioning, I might be entirely unaware of a faint whiff that exceptionally might adhere.

I try to smell like daisies, honest!

And I have no idea why all those sensitive maidens and little children draw away shrieking. Whatsoever. Dogs seem to love me. It is possible that they sense a rich and deep smörgåsbord that recalls the ancient Greeks. I do not know.
Anyhow, a few hours later I was smoking my pipe at the usual place, cognizant not of smells but of noises. There was wailing and gnashing of teeth from the karaoke place further down, indicating that for sensitive souls it would be off limits for a while. As indeed it proved to be. The original bail-out bar was closing by that time, so we went to the bail-out-from-the-bail-out. Where there was, distressingly, karaoke.


Perhaps I need to find out what brand of pillow that was.
It would probably clear out all the songbirds.
And could be used to stifle them.




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