Tuesday, 29 May 2012
Hey, where'd ya get that soap?
Do any of you ever get smell association? You know when the smell of something transports you to another place? New dolls smell like Christmas morning... hand soap smells like a horny ex-boyfriend... huh? Yes. Yes I said that.
On the rare occasions when hubby dearest grabs a few groceries, he always manages to select a certain type of hand soap that ignites some crazy memories for me. I can't tell him not to get it. He'll want to know why. Right now that soap is in our bathroom AND kitchen.
Oh dear. Impure thoughts left, right and centre.
This is the same brand of hand soap that was used in the family home of an ex of mine. This ex was dumb as dog shit, the poor guy could barely string a sentence together, but he had certain other qualifications. He looked good, he smelled good and he.... was good. Very good.
It was a crazy relationship. We were quite young. I had already moved out of home and had my own apartment. He still lived with his folks and brother. He was always trying to get me to stay over at his place. Ummm why? I have my own flat, we're free to do whatever we want. Plus, I wasn't really that serious about him. Not serious enough to do dinner with the folks anyway.
It so happened that I had a birthday in the midst of all of this too-ing and fro-ing about where we would spend the night. We went out for dinner with a bunch of friends. Two of my girlfriends were dating these quite competitive sporty types, one of them would buy me a cocktail, then the other would one-up him and buy me a bigger cocktail and so on and so forth as the night progressed. Needless to say I was legless. It's the only time in my life that I have been so drunk that I couldn't remember.
The next morning I wake... in what looks like a teenage boys bedroom. Single bed, surf posters, titty posters etc. SHIT. I sit up. I'm wearing tracksuit pants and have a packet of frozen peas stuck to the side of my head. Huh? I look around and there he is, huge smile on his face, sitting on the floor. He got me to stay at his parents house.
"Ugh, why am I wearing your tracksuit?"
"You were cold'
"You were hot."
"SON" I hear a woman's voice bellow, "come here please."
SHIT, SHIT, SHIT. The mum.
He leaves the room, while I try and process where I am. He returns, giggling holding my undies. Yes, my undies. His dog had taken them in and dropped them on his parents bed. Right, that's me then, I AM OUTTA HERE!
I scramble to get dressed and start to back my arse out of his bedroom window. He is pleading with me to stay for breakfast and I am trying not to punch him in the face. As my feet find solid ground beneath me, a voice pipes up "Hi love, you must be Reb. Aren't you staying for breakfast?" The dad. Doing some gardening, right where I land.
SHIT, SHIT, SHIT.
I stayed for breakfast. In fact I had many breakfasts there as his family was the coolest. Very cool. We stayed together for a while. It wasn't the most mentally satisfying relationship, but it had other advantages. All of which I am reminded of when I use that soap.
Does anything like that happen to anybody else? Do you have sensory overload when certain scents abound?