Teenage Stench #2

Scott: I got mad at Biggest Boy tonight when I picked him up from lacrosse.

Cassie: What did he do now?

Scott: Nothing, really. He just smelled so bad. It made me mad.

Cassie: Was it that sour smell from the lacrosse equipment?

Scott: No. It was B.O. Teenage B.O., which is worse than regular B.O., by the way.

Cassie: Oh I know it. I thought you just did mouth breathing in these kinds of circumstances.

Scott: That used to work. But ever since you told me how you could breathe through your throat, I’m all screwed up. You’ve ruined me. Or, his B.O. was really bad tonight for some reason. I had to open the windows. Frickin’ freezing and still it smelled so bad….

Cassie: He let you open the windows?

Scott: Let? No. He didn’t “let” me open the windows. I opened the windows. My car…so I can open the windows to breathe in some fresh air whenever I damn well please.

Cassie: It makes his muscles lock….the cold air blowing on him….I guess you’re still mad, huh? Well, where is Max now?

Scott: Showering. I instructed him to take all the time he needed in the shower and to scrub everything twice.

Cassie: You were that specific? That would never fly…me saying something like that to him.

Scott: Man to man. Something needed to be said before we all die. Besides, he can’t consume his post-practice meal….smelling like that.

Cassie: Maybe we should start buying the Axe stuff again? He says he’s too old for that perfumed smell, but desperate times….

Scott: Whatever….Maybe get some of those car air fresheners….?

Cassie: Then, it’ll smell like a NYC taxi. But okay, I guess I could get some of those. Umm…you’re still going to tackle his lacrosse bag with him….like this weekend, right?

Scott: You mean when I clean up all the dog poops in the back, wash the dogs, help Charlie clean the rat cages, which smell like rat piss, and hose out the dog crates because one or the other of the dogs has puked inside them?! Yea, I’ll do the lacrosse bag too. I love the weekends. Really I do.

I left my husband, then, to suffer through the remainder of his mid-life moment alone. He was continuing to mutter with words like….kids….smells….teenagers…stinky dogs, poo-poo, frickin’ rats as I walked out of the room and headed upstairs to see whether Max had finished showering and was ready for me to heat up his dinner. I couldn’t help smiling to myself a little bit, though. Guess I wasn’t the only one a little weak on smells. Guess I wasn’t the only one.

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