You know what I hate? Well, lots of things – but today I’m thinking about something specific. Give up? Okay – I hate walking into a room only to discover that the previous occupant has left something of their – shall we say – essence behind. ‘Behind’ being the operative word here (if one means ‘operative’ in the literal sense, of course). This is particularly irksome when cabbage and onion featured somewhere on the long weekend menu.
This is only intermediate-level hate, though. The thing I really, really hate is when someone else walks into the same room shortly afterwards and gives me a disgusted, knowing look. How on earth do you defend yourself against that?
The truth will not necessarily set you free – you have to face into the wind if you wish to have any hope of riding the storm of effluvial suspicion. “What are you wrinkling your nose at at? I didn’t plant that fucking stink bomb!” is perhaps a tad too aggressive. “Oh it’s not mine, it was here when I arrived” sounds so lame, it could qualify for a disability grant, but “Quite a stench, huh?” is sufficiently vague and conspiratorial to leave you smelling like roses. In manner of speaking.