March 12, 2010
She saw it as an oily lavender smoke, the scent which crept up into her nostrils like the damp stench of an open wound.
She cracked her eyes momentarily hoping to discern who on the elevator was attempting to disguise their own stench with a floral surrogate.
The old lady with sunken cheeks? Her look suggested a flowery grave. The bicycle courier? Had he mistakenly used his wife’s deodorant spray?
By the fourteenth floor, she could no longer stand the noxious, enveloping cloud. When the doors slid open, she fled as if for her life. After climbing six flights of stairs to her office, she sat down with the ghastly truth—
The offending scent was her new laundry detergent.
March 5, 2010
He could feel the germs collecting inside the hollows of his skull. They were multiplying like the gaggle of teenaged girls to his right. An old man now, he was rueful about the lack of a cure for the common cold. And a cure for teenagers too. Fuck science, he thought.
Fuck religion while you’re at it, he added. Jesus nor Mohamed nor Ganesh had prevented his cold. Not that he’d asked them to. Deadbeats.
It was then he felt the heavy pain he knew must be a heart attack. The girls stopped giggling. One of them called 9-1-1 on her cell phone.
As they waited for the paramedics he asked, weakly, “Why?”
She replied with a blunt, tender sincerity, “It’s what God would want me to do.”
Mr. Dapper’s Tweets of Wisdom
March 2, 2010
If you’re sitting there thinking this is a condom full of cottage cheese, you’d be wrong. It’s feta.
More Torontoddities like this (maybe not exactly like this) at
Mr. Dapper’s Emporium of Torontoddities.