For the latter part of this week Robbie has been best viewed from a distance, and to be quite honest the greater the distance the better as far as I was concerned. I didn't see him until after I finished work on Wednesday evening. He approached the car with a big smile and as soon as got into the car he leant across to kiss me and he quite literally took my breath away - he stank! When I eventually recovered the power of speech I asked what he'd been eating? He gave a little shrug and said "nothing". I knew that wasn't true, the day that Robbie doesn't eat anything will be the day that he requires an ambulance!
It was a very difficult journey, the car stank and I was scared to breathe. I needed to get home as quickly as possible in order to escape from Robbie's breath, but I resisted the temptation to exceed the speed limit! He gave me one of his sheepish 'little boy' smiles and admitted that he had been out for lunch with his friends. He said that he'd had some rather nice sweet potato soup. Sweet? His breath was anything but sweet, he could have stripped paint with his breath! I kept my distance for the rest of the evening, but the pong seemed to take over the house so I retreated to the relative safety of the bedroom. I was asleep before he came to bed but too my horror his breath was just as bad the next morning!
His breath had improved a bit by the evening (but it was still a work in progress). He'd had a productive day and a pleasant time after work with friend's so he was bouncy and cheerful while I was exhausted after a challenging day. I was sitting at in the car looking down at my phone (to reply to a text) when Mr B crept up to the car and banged on the bonnet. I nearly jumped out of my skin, but he thought it was hilarious. Why do men never grow up? He spent the first half of the journey home giggling and the second half apologising!
I thought life would be back to normal by Friday, but I had forgotten that he was going out after work to mark a colleague's retirement. He arrived home (eventually) sober but smelly - I detest the smell of alcohol. I was happy to leave him downstairs watching television when I went to bed, but he must have found his way upstairs at some point because I woken this morning by Robbie 'backfiring'. I tried to ignore it, then I tried to wake him up, I failed dismally on both counts. In the end I decided that I suffered enough and I abandoned him in favour of the peace and quiet (and clean air) of the lounge. This week has taught me an important lesson - not to take fresh air for granted!
Robbie has been out to play tonight, I had to stay up and fetch him from the station at five past midnight. I miss him when he is out but I don't mind too much because I know that work weighs heavily on him just now, it does him good to relax a bit. He rang me at about 10pm to arrange his lift and he proudly announced that he had restricted himself to soft drinks all night. I will not let him get anywhere near me if he stinks of alcohol so he thought he had avoided a night on the sofa. Unfortunately he had eaten garlic bread and he stank, in fact I had to drive home with my head out of the window because his breath was making my eyes water. If he thinks he is going to breathe all over me tonight he can think again, and if the dog has any sense she will chuck him out too!!
I have an exceptionally good sense of smell, it became a bit of a legend among my colleagues. We encountered 'nasty niffs' on a fairly regular basis, not only was I almost always the first person to spot them, I could usually identify the precise cause of the pong with cringe making accuracy.
There have been times when my sense of smell has almost driven me to distraction. When Sam was a bit younger he went through a 'spy' phase and for reasons best known to him he stashed some goodies in the pocket of the sofa valance. Very soon I detected the smell of decaying orange, but despite turning the room upsidedown and pulling all the furniture out I couldnt find the source of the smell. It took days before I descovered Sam's stash which included a very sad satsuma. I seem to remember that when questioned Sam mentioned something about survival techniques.
Robbie has learned to put up with my sense of smell, there is no point telling fibs about what he has had for lunch or if he had a sandwich on the train because I always know. There are certain smells that I can't stand, in particular I dislike the smell of alcohol and the smell of onions. I am teetotal and since we have been together Robbie only has the occasional pint when he goes to a gig. Onions prove a bit more of a temptation to him but he doesn't like the consequences - I won't go anywhere near him. On Saturday Robbie decided to have some cheese and chive pretzels as a snack. As a result he stank of onions, and I couldn't even bear him to talk to me because it was so overpowering. It was so bad that I threatened to sleep on the sofa, but in the end I curled up on the edge of the bed, longing for clean air!
I had a bad night and I was tired the next day. To add to my troubles Robbie was in a strop because he still smelled. It gradually diminished during the day and by Sunday evening I was longing for a good sleep with no onion fumes, unfortunately that wasn't to be. Robbie can't stay still to save his life, it is like sleeping next to a windmill! 'Radioactive Man' constantly claims to be too hot and he waves his arms and legs about in such an exaggerated way that it could be mistaken for a Kenny Everett impression! The end result is that I always have to fight for my share of the duvet, and last night I was constantly cold because he kept fanning cold air into the bed. Today I am going to acquire two bricks (don't worry, nothing drastic!) I just want to weight my side of the duvet down. Failing that I am going to buy a sleeping bag!
