Who stinks now and what do I stink of?

I am back. Things have been rather crazy around these parts. Friday, I should have taken odds that my father in law would put the same damn bottle of Galliano on the table. Every fucking week it is the same thing. He asks what kind of wine it is. I then tell him that the fluorescent green liquid in the conical bottle is not wine but Galliano, an Italian liquer. I get the nod of him understanding and then it goes, untouched, back into his liquor cabinet. It gets trotted out again the next Friday with the same lines uttered. I fucking hate reruns.

Well we were done in confusion central and it was on to Sunday. I am skipping Saturday for no apparent reason. Sunday was the Hannukah Party day. First, it was at the lad's Hebrew school. Then, we were at the wife's aunt's house. The food was good, but I had so much caffiene coursing through my veins at the time that I was mega-anxious. I was just a raw nerve waiting to go off. We made it out of there only to have to go to the dinner party of a friend.

It was latke central. Those traditional fried potato pancakes. They were all good. What could be wrong with a grated, with onion, fried, potato. There is nothing wrong with it. Unless, you forget to factor in the stinking oil that splatters everywhere, getting that fried and oniony smell onto your clothes, body and hair. Also, our jackets. I go to put on my jacket Monday morning and it stinks like fried onions. Bleahh. Then again, I keep telling myself, it is not B.O., so it is a good smell, but not constantly.

I had great experience of smelling like a grill. Back in the day, I would go for a late breakfast with my father at one of his old haunts (Mars) on those Sundays when I would work for him (those hard two hour days). I would then go to study and catch a whiff of the grill (fried food) on my sweatshirt. I would make a face and then remember it is better than B.O. so I should not complain. Besides, I got to share that memory with you. Gotta run. Ciao!