I am going to the opera tonight with skunk hands.
Last night my wonderfully curious dog had what we in the business world refer to as a “face to face” and unfortunatley, she came out on the wrong side of the negotiations. I can only surmise that she was attempting to bargain a right-of-passage over the skunk’s territory, and was oderiferously denied.
Upon entering back into safe territory, (henceforth referred to as “the house”), she was met with hostility as she bore the sour fruit of her efforts. After each of us placed our noses in all five of the dogs’ fur (to satisfy our initial theory that it was, in fact, the stinky yellow dog that had gotten…stinkier), I led her upstairs while Lord Chancellor (hence forth referred to as “mom”) looked up remedies for dispelling the odor that was now causing the Surf’s (henceforth referred to as “me”) eye’s to water. After several minutes of lathering up said stinky dog, “mom” came upstairs to inform “me” that I should be using gloves. “Me” informed her that this information might have been purveyed in a more timely manner.
Apparently a skunk’s odor is more than just bad gas as a result of eating too many wild-growing chili dogs. It is actually an oil, and as such may be passed around like poison ivy, infecting said dog, “house”, and “me” alike.
So that is why tonight I will go to the opera with skunk butt-juice on my hands, and join others in looking around in annoyance as we try to find the right person to admonish with a sour expresison.