Whew! It's a wonder I have the strength to type. My head is clogged from breathing 20-year-old cologne. I'm pretty sure that's the newest stuff Farmer H has in his side of the medicine cabinet. I've told him before that he slathers it on too thick, but Farmer H is not one to take advice. Not even from the voice of reason.
Last night he went to HOS's daughter's high school graduation. I don't like crowds, and am not particularly fond of re-entering a school after my long career. Farmer H took a nice card and monetary gift and my regards. I can't imagine sitting in a hot gym if every guy in there had splashed on the cologne like Farmer H.
I could even smell it downstairs. Not in my lair, but out by the TV. Farmer H hadn't even gone down there! I guess the molecules settled to the lowest level. Plenty of them didn't make it, though. When I ascended those 13 steps to go to bed, the cloying miasma was almost palpable.
My nose was running when I tried to sleep next to the out-gassing Farmer H. His aroma lingered at 7:30 this morning, even though he was long-gone to his Storage Unit Store. Yes, that's right. I do NOT get up at 7:30. Unless it's to turn off the clock radio that started blaring local radio news at that time. Farmer H always finds a way to keep me from getting my full component of 5.5 hours of ZZZZs.
I'm tempted to go peel an onion, to rid my hands of the cologny smell I picked up from the TV remote.