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?”
