I stick to one after shave and one deo. I’m lazy that way. I like to keep my... whatever you call that shite over the sink with mirrors on its midget doors which women fill until it almost falls off the wall... I like to keep it clean, simple, easy to get hold of my stuff from. I bloody hate all that midgety packaged stuff. I hate how the packaging is designed with the centre of mass almost always positioned deliberately to annoy you. You so much as glance towards it, it falls over, onto something close-by and a domino effect causes everything to trip over in a mess. That’s if you fill the bastard over the sink. There’s no point in doing so.
One of the great benefits with being single is that, that shite with the midget glass doors is not even half full. When I’ve been single, I can damn near fit my vacuum cleaner in it and there’s still more space to spare. You can very manly Neanderthal throw your whole arm in there, get hold of what you’re after, and nothing else will get in the way. Living with a woman on the other hand, that shite with the fucking mirrors, you will have to clean it every other day because she tells you it’s dirty, because she brushes her teeth almost sitting inside the mirror and she seems to do her make-up twice every time. Once on her face and once on her reflection.
Where was I?
Yes, now she’s filled it with stuff of which half I only half recognize and 25% is enigmatic at best. She’s filled it to the point I have to buy bolts they secure suspension bridges with or it will crash like a meteorite through the floor and into the scalp of the neighbour below. And when I want to get to my one after shave and to my one deo, I have to be like bleeding Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark. When he switches the bag with sand for the artefact. Or the whole damn inventory inside will rattle all over me. Taking aeons to put back up.
She’s bought me bollocks I never asked for. Qute-sy little bullshit bottles and headache I’d flush down if it wasn’t for the toilet having a tsunami, her feelings being hurt and I don’t flush down crap that shouldn’t go there. Now I’m stood there planning my move before I can get to my after shave and my deo. And I fail at least twice in every one try.
I use Kouros by YSL, by the way. All the way. After shave, deo, that third I don’t even know how it differs from after shave. I’m thinking about switching. But I hate walking into perfume shops/departments. I couldn’t put my finger on why but those ladies (it most often is ladies) give me the creeps. I think I’ve figured it out. They have this look, this manner. Check it out next time you walk into the perfume section at the tax free when you’re transferring flights. The chocolate department, they’re all friendly. The booze, they’re just happy. Probably drunk. The souvenir shop, they’re just tired or bored or both.
But the perfume, they sneak up towards you. They approach you slowly, and measure you like they’re trying to figure out the size of the coffin you’re about to be buried in. They look at you like you’re already dead.
One of the great benefits with being single is that, that shite with the midget glass doors is not even half full. When I’ve been single, I can damn near fit my vacuum cleaner in it and there’s still more space to spare. You can very manly Neanderthal throw your whole arm in there, get hold of what you’re after, and nothing else will get in the way. Living with a woman on the other hand, that shite with the fucking mirrors, you will have to clean it every other day because she tells you it’s dirty, because she brushes her teeth almost sitting inside the mirror and she seems to do her make-up twice every time. Once on her face and once on her reflection.
Where was I?
Yes, now she’s filled it with stuff of which half I only half recognize and 25% is enigmatic at best. She’s filled it to the point I have to buy bolts they secure suspension bridges with or it will crash like a meteorite through the floor and into the scalp of the neighbour below. And when I want to get to my one after shave and to my one deo, I have to be like bleeding Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark. When he switches the bag with sand for the artefact. Or the whole damn inventory inside will rattle all over me. Taking aeons to put back up.
She’s bought me bollocks I never asked for. Qute-sy little bullshit bottles and headache I’d flush down if it wasn’t for the toilet having a tsunami, her feelings being hurt and I don’t flush down crap that shouldn’t go there. Now I’m stood there planning my move before I can get to my after shave and my deo. And I fail at least twice in every one try.
I use Kouros by YSL, by the way. All the way. After shave, deo, that third I don’t even know how it differs from after shave. I’m thinking about switching. But I hate walking into perfume shops/departments. I couldn’t put my finger on why but those ladies (it most often is ladies) give me the creeps. I think I’ve figured it out. They have this look, this manner. Check it out next time you walk into the perfume section at the tax free when you’re transferring flights. The chocolate department, they’re all friendly. The booze, they’re just happy. Probably drunk. The souvenir shop, they’re just tired or bored or both.
But the perfume, they sneak up towards you. They approach you slowly, and measure you like they’re trying to figure out the size of the coffin you’re about to be buried in. They look at you like you’re already dead.
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