Halitosis

My wife and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary this evening. We managed to have our boy looked after by my in-laws and we went out to a lovely dinner. We don't get to do that very often. More accurately, we never get to do that.

We went to a little Mediterranean place we read a review on. The ambiance was nice - soft light and not reeking of garlic. We were seated at a lovely corner table where we could sit beside each other.

"Can I bring you guys a drink?"

A cloud of warm rot encapsulated our table. The poor gentleman serving us had halitosis... at least. This wasn't just an old piece of meat stuck in his teeth for a few days. This was a failing liver.

Big deal. So, a guy has bad breath. The reason I write about this now is because I can still smell his breath. That rude funk is still in my nose. Or on my clothes. It is around me.

I am reminded of that Seinfeld episode where Jerry and friends are haunted by the body odor 'deposited' in Jerry's car by a valet. That B.O. was a physical thing. This man's breath is a physical thing.

I feel like scrubbing my body with strong soap.