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A mouse at poo corner
Apr. 16th, 2012 07:57 am“David”, she said to me. “What have you been doing in the corner of the living room?”
Now, when a girl asks you a question like that, it’s wise to think before you answer. No, you think to yourself. I’m pretty sure she can’t know about that. And if she knew about that other thing, she’d’ve dumped me without asking any questions at all. On due consideration, I decided that the best defense on this occasion was to answer a question with a question.
“Why?” I said. “What’s wrong with it?”
“There’s a really funny smell there.”
Phew, I thought, that’s several of the things I might have been doing in the corner struck off the list immediately.
“A funny smell? Why do you think I - notable for my fragrant and punctilious personal hygiene - might have anything to do with it?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me.”
I got up and wandered into the living room and gave a deep sniff. There was indeed peculiar – in fact rather unpleasant – smell.
“Are you saying”, I called through, “that you reckon I’m behind this…honk?”
“You’ve got form, David. A record as long as my arm.”
“What the heck to you think I might have been doing to make the room smell like this?”
“Something unsavoury, I bet. Have you taken a poo in the cupboard?”
”What?!”
“It just seemed like the sort of thing you might do.”
The thing was, there was a pretty unpleasant smell in the corner of the room. It smelled for all the world like something had died and gone off there. “Hang on”, I said.
“Going to own up?”
“No!”
“Hmph.”
“I think I’ve got it. I reckon something like a mouse has died under the floorboards and is, um, going off.”
“Ew!” She held her nose.
“It might take a few days for this to clear.”
“What can we do?”
“Short of taking the floor up, not a great deal I don’t think.”
“So you’re telling me that the living room is going to smell like…like…your underpants for days?”
“Maybe a week.”
“God, it’s not like the house doesn’t smell badly enough when you’re in it, without this as well.
“You know”, I said, contemplatively. “If ever your body is found bobbing down the Thames, no court in the land will convict. I’ll have too many character witnesses.”
“Oh? Why?”
“They’ll have read my Livejournal…”
Now, when a girl asks you a question like that, it’s wise to think before you answer. No, you think to yourself. I’m pretty sure she can’t know about that. And if she knew about that other thing, she’d’ve dumped me without asking any questions at all. On due consideration, I decided that the best defense on this occasion was to answer a question with a question.
“Why?” I said. “What’s wrong with it?”
“There’s a really funny smell there.”
Phew, I thought, that’s several of the things I might have been doing in the corner struck off the list immediately.
“A funny smell? Why do you think I - notable for my fragrant and punctilious personal hygiene - might have anything to do with it?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me.”
I got up and wandered into the living room and gave a deep sniff. There was indeed peculiar – in fact rather unpleasant – smell.
“Are you saying”, I called through, “that you reckon I’m behind this…honk?”
“You’ve got form, David. A record as long as my arm.”
“What the heck to you think I might have been doing to make the room smell like this?”
“Something unsavoury, I bet. Have you taken a poo in the cupboard?”
”What?!”
“It just seemed like the sort of thing you might do.”
The thing was, there was a pretty unpleasant smell in the corner of the room. It smelled for all the world like something had died and gone off there. “Hang on”, I said.
“Going to own up?”
“No!”
“Hmph.”
“I think I’ve got it. I reckon something like a mouse has died under the floorboards and is, um, going off.”
“Ew!” She held her nose.
“It might take a few days for this to clear.”
“What can we do?”
“Short of taking the floor up, not a great deal I don’t think.”
“So you’re telling me that the living room is going to smell like…like…your underpants for days?”
“Maybe a week.”
“God, it’s not like the house doesn’t smell badly enough when you’re in it, without this as well.
“You know”, I said, contemplatively. “If ever your body is found bobbing down the Thames, no court in the land will convict. I’ll have too many character witnesses.”
“Oh? Why?”
“They’ll have read my Livejournal…”
