June 11, 2010

What's That Smell?

My husband can douse himself in gasoline, kerosene or any of the other toxic petroleum products men use in garages and it doesn’t bother him a bit, but let me use fingernail polish remover or paint my nails and he can’t take it.

I can give myself a manicure three hours before he comes home and he’ll be frowning at the front door, “What’s that horrible smell?”

“I’ve been delousing skunks dear, I hope you don’t mind.”

It’s one of life’s great mysteries. One person’s foul is another persons normal.

Funny thing is he doesn’t mind it quite so much if I mention going to the salon to have them done to save him from the ghastly fumes. Suddenly he doesn’t mind so much.

Did I mention my husband is a tightwad of the first degree?

He’ll just go to his workshop and swab turpentine on his clothing to mask the aroma. Then I’m the one holding a handkerchief over my nose.

“What’s that smell?”