Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Dipped In Gravy

"Why don't you like smelling Irish Daddy?"

You can picture it now. There I am after a long night out - disheveled. Caked in last night's kebab. Reeking of spilled Murphy's and Beamish-tinged vomit. And - because my Irish smells stereotypes only extend so far - also smelling slightly of tweed and horses. Admittedly most of this is based upon a housemate of mine named Kieran who spent his entire day drinking, talking about horses and proudly wearing a variety of tweed waistcoats. That man spent an inordinate amount of time polishing a pair of riding boots - without even the slightest hint ever being given that he actually owned a horse.

Anyway - this all stems from my daughter asking me why I would want to smell like Irish Spring. And for that matter - what on earth that smell would be. I told I bought it because I'm cheap. She said that my soap - being green - is filled with broccoli and grass. I bet someone makes that. I hilariously claimed that it was actually made using the love juice of Kermit the frog. She gave me a blank look that told me she will forget this entirely until sat in school one day - at which point she will declare to all the teachers present that I bathe in Kermit's sperm. My daughter has soaps that smell like coconut and oatmeal. Which she thinks, "sound tasty" - and make her smell like a really good cookie. It doesn't help that whenever we are out buying new soap my wife will ask, "what flavor shall I get?" I have no idea why this bothers me so much - but it does lead me to believe that one day one of us is going to have to drink it simply to justify the ridiculousness of my wife and kids calling it a flavor.

It should be noted though that I bought the middle-cheap soap that wasn't in a grey Soviet-style bottle marked, "abrasive cleanser" last time I needed some. And when I bought a new one an Old Spice one was on sale - so I got that. I'm not betrothed to a brand at all. But my daughter being analytical like her mother now believes that either I don't like the Irish one (as if I were making some sort of political statement) or that I want to smell like the new one more. I want to smell clean for a relatively low price. Frankly if I could have any scent it would be gravy. And I mean the real stuff - not the scary white one made from wallpaper paste that covers up the flavor of cheap nasty breakfast sausages. Possibly that smell puppies have - that's quite nice. Or maybe Konnie Huq.

My son is all about the process. He now sees that you should wash with stuff until bubbles appear - and then rinse them off. So he stands there protruding his belly outwards like it's massively bloated - suggesting that he wants someone to rub the soap on him so he can go to town scrubbing. And my daughter - seemingly attacked with gender-specific crap all day long from somewhere/someone when I'm not around - believes that he should use the man soap I have. For awhile she was fine with him smelling of cookies and coconuts - but is weird about it now and again. It has to be some sort of Michele Bachmannesque thinking where if you rub on enough lady-flavored soaps the gay smells will infiltrate your skin and turn you into a boy-lady.And what with his propensity for dancing and brushing his hair it may be too late. I'll have to make up some sort of gunpowder-and-steaks soap (with a hint of chewing tobacco) to bring him back to stereotypical American manliness. I'll have to teach him some off-the-cuff statements to about how his woman won't earn more money than him as well. Oh - and some general dialogue about snow blower preferences to really overpower the lady-soap power that has affected him.

 Hold on - Konnie Huq in a hot tub of gravy. Oh that's nice.....

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