Eau de cucumber

So in my excessive amount of spare time, I feel that I over analyse things even more now. You know, why do we need to buy a fragrance for the water in our irons – who is in there that the stench (may I remind you it’s not a sewer) is totally unbearable. And what was Channel 10 thinking when it created the phrase ‘event bigness’ – bigness?? Maybe the next word can be bignessest??

This brings me to my newest issue with the consumer goods and that is, my friends, new ‘flavours’. Take cherry blossom body wash. When we were in Japan for cherry blossom season, I swear I thrust my nostrils into many a cherry blossom to determine how something so pretty doesn’t actually smell at all. And you know when I think back, I was the only lunatic trying to smell the cherry blossom! Everyone else was posed ridiculously with the cherry blossom trees. Spot the tourist! But if I purchase the cherry blossom body wash at the supermarket now, it smells so lovely - I feel a conspiracy!

So now my life has been turned upside down literally by my CUCUMBER deodorant. How did it take so many years for the R&D departments of these mogul deodorant companies to realise that this was a great idea?! However, somewhere between the ‘let’s turn the bottle upside down’ discussion and the finished product on the shelf, someone entertained the notion that a deodorant which smells like salad is a good idea. So I purchase this new (and improved – so the packaging tells me) fresh scented bottle of reassuring goodness. I try it out the next day, and at first whiff it is quite pleasant. Then throughout the day, I kept thinking I could smell this slightly wrong salad bar following me like the plague. As the day worn on I was beginning to feel a little paranoid that I had salad dressing, or worse still, pieces of salad stuck in my teeth/hair/shoes – who knows – I was irrational with the smell of salad. Only when I got on the train did that gorgeous other half say “Hey Rom – that salad you had for lunch is really lingering...”

I rest my case.

Homo-idiotius

Today on my expeditions around Sydney I encountered a disproportionate number of stupid numberplates on cars on front of me. Usually these cars, with their driver’s elbow hanging out the window and wearing a black chesty bonds singlet (pardon me mate, it’s winter!), were ones which made a disproportionate amount of noise with respect to the lawn mower engine under the bonnet. Don’t deny it, we all know the types of cars we are talking about!

So I am happily travelling down Parramatta Road toward home, resisting the urge to detour via the Pho place (see earlier post about Pho – its all good now. No signs of insects in about 2 months!), when this little car scoots in front of me, swerving like he is test driving for The Fast and The Furious. Don’t delude yourself buddy, you look like a loser and your loud car is attracting attention to that fact. So not long after he swerves in front of me I catch a glimpse of his number plate. URUGLY. No mate, you’re ugly. What’s that about? Is the number plate a message for me? Am I the ugly one? Or is it supposed to be ironic, where the phrase is said back to him? Can someone who clearly demonstrates how the evolution theory works be that smart? It begs the question.

So the next numberplate I saw on my travels not three minutes later (What, do they travel in packs? Safety in numbers?) was GR8BAB. Is that supposed to be ‘Great Babe’? Or a tribute to Barbara Streisand (the original Bab’s – it’s far-fetched I know – especially as it was attached to a hotted up ride-on mower) or something to do with a kebab (as Daniel has suggested??). Whatever it may be, I guess I should now confess that I also have a personalised numberplate, but not the one I wanted. JINXME wasn’t available. He he he...