YESTERDAY, THREE FRIENDS drove back to our getaway cottage in the same car from the same supermarket, where they’d collectively done the shopping for the weekend. All the way back – a ten-minute drive – they politely refrained
from asking who the culprit was, just quietly rolled down the windows and agreed they preferred a little fresh air to air-conditioning; it was a rainy day, wasn’t it, and so cool already.
It took getting home to the villa and unpacking the groceries together in the kitchen to discover that they had purchased a dozen thoroughly rotten eggs. It made me remember the line from my form three chemistry textbook that said, “Hydrogen sulphide smells like bad eggs, although it would be more accurate to say bad eggs smell of hydrogen sulphide”.
They were all chuckling about it, all of them thinking one of the other two had to get home to the washroom fast; for me, it was just a golden opportunity to fart at will.
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