Ptoooie! I’d spit, if I were the spittin’ type. I’m so ticked off at the girl right now. I’ve been simmering beef for French Dip all day. The house had the glorious smell of onions and yes you vegetarians — meat! I’ve been hungry since about 11am, anticipating the sandwiches we’ll have for dinner.
I ran out for about half and hour to take the boy for an allergy check up and when we got back the house had been fumigated. The girl — and I don’t know WHAT got into her head — had sprayed Febreze in Country Meadow or some such floral fantasy so thick throughout the house that IT’S ALL I CAN TASTE.
It smells like a nursing home on visiting day. It’s like church, when you’re in the heavily perfumed old ladies’ section. It’s floral, with an aerosol overtone. It makes me want to fry some fish and smoke a cigar because NO ONE WOULD KNOW.
If that stuff has tainted the taste of my French Dip, I’m going out and I know a little girl who’s BUYING MY DINNER.