Working at the Consulate, I've been learning very quickly the intricacies of public diplomacy. Basically, I need to remember that my first duty as a consular officer is to protect fellow Australians living and travelling in the Midwest.
Now before you get shades of vigilante style justice being waged from downtown Chicago, I'm hardly that militant. You would be surprised the impact that an Aussie accent and a big smile can have on an unsuspecting American.
So with this in mind, and given the fact that I forgot my novel this morning, I was on the bus contemplating whether or not the man next to me would appreciate being told his aftershave was DEFINITELY working for him. I would have said it diplomatically, in my best Aussie accent, and flashing my most winning smile. I'm quite sure this man wasn't an Australian that I'm obliged to look after, but what the hey? I was in a good mood and he did smell rather nice. And given where I live, he's probably not entirely into girls either, but what did I have to lose?
I did the daggy thing and role-played in my head. What would I say? What would HE say? If it went badly, and I had to throw myself off the bus, how long would it take me to walk to work?
But of course, he was a cute boy and therefore OF COURSE I didn't end up saying anything to him. And on reflection, I'm rather glad for it. Because no sooner had I resolved to remain quiet on the subject, did he start sniffing. But not just periodically, but on EVERY SINGLE BREATH. What's up with that? Tissues aren't expensive in this country and in any case, if it was his own aftershave making him sniff, it's his own sodding fault.
Amen. Or, should I say, Ahhhh men.
1 comment:
Reading this blog I had the awful vision of "Mrs Crabopple, I really need my drumsticks back." "Come and get 'em!".
Remember that lady commenting on Dad's aftershave on the train once?! He was a married man!! Hussy!!!
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