Thursday, September 1, 2011

The Scats I Have Smelled

A young friend/daughter was recently lamenting the peculiar dating behaviors she's encountered during her limited years of experience with the male species.  "What," she wondered aloud, "is a girl to do?"


Three words suffice in response... 

DUMP HIS BUTT!!!

However, I also recalled having once before blogged upon the subject of using ye olde feminine intuition to sniff out the bad dogs before they come into the yard. 


I am republishing here for the benefit of young gals everywhere who are still learning to trust and respond to their intuition.


This one's for all the ladies in the house...


Don'tchya love it when your olfactory system kicks into gear and proves what a divinely intuitive person you are?  Like, for example, when you're out somewhere without your spouse, and some very charming fella comes slinking over for a little chit chat.  It's all good.  No harm in a little chit chat. You behave like a perfect lady and he is the perfect gentlemen. At the end of the night it's the "nice to have met you, buona serra" script. The end...right?  Nope!


Reflecting back on this chance encounter as you ride home in your limo, you says you to your own self:

My, what a cute fella, and how good it is to be reassured that there are still gentlemen in the world.


Upon arriving home, you are flattered-but-flummoxed to find that the gentleman has magically acquired your contact information from a friend and used it to send you the most polite of notes.  What a pleasure it was to meet you...and stuff like that there.


Hmmm...you think to yourself.  A pleasure...yes, but I wonder...well...it's probably all fine...maybe...


Later you check it out with your friend.  No need to be suspicious.  A gentleman for sure. A right respectable fella who'll be a nice friend. It's all good.


But each day thereafter, that stray dog aroma begins to waft your way.  Charming little messages appear.  There's flattery and suggestions that one brief encounter was sufficient to determine your spectacular divinity and all around wonderfulness.True enough in theory but...


Hmmm...you think...really?  Seems sorta sudden if you ask me. After all, I have been known to curse like a sailor and fail to shave my legs.  True, I am delightful, but I'm much too complex and far too "raw" to be so very much admired after only a couple of hours.  And what's with such a charming fella being so...charming...? Too charming perhaps.  And now that I think of it...I did say I had a husband waiting for me at home didn't I?  Well, I'll just straighten this all out right now...


So off you go to assure yourself that such sudden admiration is the harmless fancy of a single man in search of divine happiness. Oh the poor slob, you think. What a pity I'm taken, but he's a charming fella.  There'll be some sweet gal for him somewhere.  

And then there it is again...that faint scent of barnyard potpourri...B---S---...doggy doo...something that rises up foul from the rear.


A bit of simple detective work followed by a direct inquiry confirms what you already knew you smelled...Mssr. Charming is  married.  But of course he is terribly unhappy...has been "all but divorced for years," and it is so much worse for him now because he's met you...and you are so special...so unique...so....divine.  <INSERT GAG & BARF HERE>
 

NOT EVEN ORIGINAL!!!

With one last spray of acidic wit, you excuse yourself  from further communication. How he admires your self-control, your kandor, your integrity...Blah, blah, blah......And there it is, that warm, familiar aroma...

Ahhh yes, the only thing left now is to find out if you're smelling bullsh** or chickensh**...You flip a coin...Chicken it is!


You say to Mssr. Charming, perhaps if you are in such distress I could call you an attorney, a priest, a shrink, or a hitman. You must get help and relieve yourself of this anguish.  It's clearly too painful for you to go on another day in this condition.


And with that the chicken clucks a few clucks of thanks for your concern and no doubt begins pecking the ground for fresh worms. You are quite sure that you'll not be stepping in his mess again. And with that you smile knowingly to yourself as you prove once again how ridiculously easy it is to know the critters by their scats.


The end.

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