Stinky poo
Indy and Junior Misssy are fine specimens of the species they call children. Now I know that everyone says their kids are beautiful, but most are misguided, if not downright liars- you only have to go to any playpark in the country to know that. From bogey-nosed this to borderline-obese, jammy -faced that…ugh!
I am not one of these parental charlatans: I’ve had both of mine factually and independently assessed by a committee of well known and respected experts and the results are conclusive; they empirically are outstanding. Look it up in the local records office if you don’t believe me.
Beautiful as they are, I cannot vouch for their smell, though. The two of them are soap dodging craiturs, and getting the two of them into a bath or shower has become a thankless, daily ordeal not unlike operating the Customer Service Desk in the pits of Hades.
With Indy we decided on a daily shower routine a good few years before any teenage smells start to get a chance to emit from his body. We were given an early warning of this by our friends’ teenage son, whom it is difficult be in the same room with.
Anyone who has had a teenage brother will testify to the fact that boys from age 12-17 smell of a potpourri of sweat, athlete’s foot powder, piss, spunk, toe cheese and pickled onions.
For four years no-one could go into my brother’s bedroom, and I am determined not to let this happen to me. So aged 9, we laid down the law; a shower everyday for Indy with explicit instructions on areas on which to concentrate. Any hoodwinking with regard to shampooing and the lack of will result in a re-entry into the shower cubicle at the end of a big pointy stick.
He still looks at me with ill disguised venom as I point him showerwards but I’m willing to put up with a daily dose of hatred to avoid the kind of noxious fumes emitted by my friend’s greasy teenage son and (back in the day) my fetid younger brother.
Once happy to go into the bath, all of a sudden, Junior Misssy has taken to unleashing wildcat-like physical attacks on whichever parent tries to get her in the bath. Even Sonny the Dog is more compliant these days when the shampoo gets broken out. The only thing that makes Junior Misssy want to get in the bath is when her similarly aged cousin comes round and the two of them want to flood my bathroom and cause me general distress.
It was when her cousin was round recently that I realised that my technique for getting Junior into the bath maybe needed some fine tuning.
“Muu-um, me and Curly Cousin need to go in the bath because we stink.”she shouted.
I am maybe telling my daughter she stinks too much. That can’t be good.
I think I’ve cracked Indy, but as for Junior Misssy I am willing to try anything to get her to be more sympathetic to the art of bathing and I throw the floor open to Misssives readers for suggestions. Perhaps pointing out that if she smells she will live a lonely life with only cats for company, and people will throw stones at her in the street might be too harsh but, short of that, I’m willing to consider anything.
Anyone suggesting that vicious, TV advertised, red powder that turns bathwater into jelly will be scoffed at (and possibly forced to come over and clean my bath as punishment for their naivety).
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