I was about to sink down on the couch and enjoy a rousing episode of Big Brother.
But then my husband Tom stuck his face at the screen part of the front door and shouted my name.
He scared me. Usually when he comes home from work he just walks through the door. I jumped three feet in the air and yelled, “What are you doing? Get in here!” I mean, he was just standing outside.
“Did you take a good look at me?” Tom asked, gesturing to himself.
Oh lord. If this was a sexual thing I didn’t have the patience for it. I just wanted to watch my show. That’s all.
But still, I headed over out of sheer curiosity.
And this is when I smelled it.
And saw it.
I realized Tom was drenched and he reeked like a rotten hot dog. I could see the stains from ketchup and mustard against his uniform and what looked like remnants of mayonnaise in his hair.
“What the HELL?” I boomed, gripping the door handle. There was no way he was coming inside looking (and smelling) like that.
“It was my last day on flight,” Tom reminded me with a shrug. “On your last day, you get pummeled.”
Ew. Ew. Ew.
“You reek! I can smell you through the door,” I said, pinching my nose.
Tom just looked pleased with himself. “Oh, that’s probably the sauerkraut.”
Okay. Tom was NEVER coming inside.
“Why did you let them do that to you?” I demanded. I mean, couldn’t he have said no thanks, I’d rather not have sauerkraut and relish rubbed on me? I would have. And if they had insisted on throwing things at me I’d scream, “LAWSUIT! LAWWWWSUIT!” at the top of my lungs.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Tom said nonchalantly. “Everyone goes through it. If you don’t, you’re a loser.”
I sighed. “Then be a loser! Who cares?” Seriously. No one will ever toss condiments on me without a fight.
Tom just grinned. “It doesn’t bother me,” he repeated.
“It’ll bother you when you learn that you’re sleeping outside!” I shrieked as the theme song for my show began on the TV. Crap. I was missing it because my husband decided to bathe in ketchup. Fantastic.
“I’m going to hose myself off,” Tom assured me. “Could you just take my beret inside? Don’t worry, it didn’t get messy,” he added when he saw me wince.
I cautiously opened the door as though I were worried that Tom would suddenly gather me into his arms and force me to breathe in his disgusting wet dog scent. The blast of all the ketchup, and mustard, and relish, and sauerkraut hit my nostrils and I nearly gagged. It was awful.
I grabbed Tom’s beret and hurried away. Then I grabbed a bottle of Febreze and rushed back outside, holding my breath.
“What are you DOING?” Tom yelled as I sprayed him with the lovely lavender smell.
“Trying to mask your scent!” I shouted.
“That’s why I’m HOSING MYSELF OFF!” Tom bellowed as the Febreze rained down on him.
“Not good enough!” I sang cheerfully as I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed.
I imagine we looked amusing standing out there in the front lawn. Tom was trying to hose himself off and trying to get away from the Febreze at the same time. So it was some strange song and dance we were doing with Tom darted to and fro, and me trying to keep up with him and Tom shrieking at me to CUT IT OUT, CUT IT OUT, THE HOSE WOULD TAKE CARE OF IT!
One of our neighbors walked past with his dog and gave us a startled look.
“Hi,” I said as I continued to spritz my husband. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”
I eventually allowed Tom in the house after I felt he was clean enough.
“I smell like a girl now, thanks,” he grumbled as he headed for the shower.
“No problem!” I chirped sweetly and gave him one last Febreze spray for good measure.