There comes a time when every venture to the store becomes something much more. You never know if that hint of rotten eggs is really some spilled yolk, if if that smiling face to the friendly fellow passing by you is their hidden joke. Chances are it is exactly what you think it is.
Brian and Jane were meandering through the isles one serene Saturday, perusing the goods to chance along a certain deal. Half paying attention to the sixth item pointed out (to be fair it was a red tag special, half the fun is spotting those red tags) when a certain tingle began in his schnoz. Curiosity at first lead to the mistake we all make when it comes to this event, and that is tuning out all the senses to focus on this particularly double edged sword that we call smell.
Brian looked over at Jane, perturbed that she was still eagerly looking those red dots. Upon less concentration of smell and more of sight he might have noticed Jane’s eyes take three quick glances to each of exits to the isles. Touch working perfectly as she grabbed his arm and innocently said “oh over here!” Again looking behind as another innocent began a similar search for such bargains. Little did this gentlemen know of the great deal on smell he was going to partake in.
Brian allowed himself to be lead around the corner to see Jane’s should start in a chuckle. Already identifying the smell, he rolled his eyes and peaked around the corner at the gentleman, now staring dazed at a poster on the wall. Source identified. Sighing, he continued on hoping to provide enough distance to abate the horrendous smell.
With a question for the chap at the register, they got in line behind another gentleman, eager to purchase his bounty.
Waiting in line, a crowd of three proved too much. Brian’s nose wrinkled as slowly and swiftly a WMD in the form of smell wafted into his senses. He stared at the back of the gentleman in front of him and almost through him. It was like the whispering wind that filters through the hills at dawn, bringing a soft and unexpected breeze. True this was unexpected, but unfortunately it was not a breeze. Just as he was reaching out to say something, Jane tugged his arm and redirected him down the aisle and out the door.
Quietly, with a soft chortle and a splitting grin she whispered “It was me.”
Oh those poor souls, hoping to find their bargains and instead, like a game of battleship, hoping this aisle will be a miss, and the WMD known as the SBD will not sink their battleship.
