We all got up a few mornings ago to a really rotten reek from somewhere. Okay - the men were up at the time, but even they couldn't be blamed for such a wiff. We eventually tracked it down to behind the television, which stands on the extended brick fireplace (which I HATE!) but nothing seemed to be there to account for it. Then it struck me. The cat had squeezed down the back where there's a hole for plugs ect - and shit under there!
He's a very old cat, you see, and I hate him out over night. Both my cat's are house trained, and I wouldn't tolerate a litter tray in my house, but over winter the older one has very occasionally shit in the bath before rather than face the cruel Scottish nights. Some dunderheid had forgotten to leave the living room door ajar for him, so I take it he felt he had no other choice. Anyhow, it was a fabulous morning, grumpy men getting ready for work, college and school, and having to unplug and lift telly and DVD's, consoles and timber ect, so as I could reach it. I mean, I was having to clean the ruddy shit itself and I didn't moan in the least! So problem solved.
As they were spraying and lashing on extra lotions and potions, in case the cat shit had tainted their clothes or hair - God Forbid - I stood shaking my head. But I now realised how fussy men can be. There was a time when I used to walk through shops with THEM smelling of shit, (husband excluded) for God's sakes - nappies bulging with the stuff and I cared not a jot until we reached home. But the experience did make me more aware that I needed to stock up on smellies for them.
I'm extremely lucky in that I've got a wonderful Avon rep, who at Xmas buys in stuff from the catalogue on my behalf and saving me a fortune. Mind you, when it comes to McScrooge (new readers: I'm referring to the husband here) he thinks all perfumes smell like soap, so why I don't just scrape a bar of carbolic over my G-spots, I don't know! Somehow, I like the more traditional styling of eau de parfum. Mind you, that's one Xmas pressie sorted now.
But I'm not slagging all men's senses. Some have very trained nostrils. It's other senses in men I worry about. I can recall reading in a surgery magazine somewhere, that a bloke was missing home and for a cheer-him-up over the phone, his wife asked him to take a sniff as she had his favourite muffins in the oven. When he told her he couldn't smell them as the phone wasn't in the kitchen, he then put the phone down on her. That's the kind of thing, I will sniff at exception to. Can anyone really be so thick? I doubt it. Guess, I'm just happy to be walking around smelling of soap-in-a-bottle.