‘Something’s not right’ I thought when I walked in the front door laden with grocery shopping yesterday. The house stunk of something peculiar, something disturbingly alien… what the hell was it?
The dogs, Celine and Pablo, were nowhere to be seen which was suspiciously atypical. Usually they’d be jumping round madly at my feet, tripping me over as I swore like a navvy and attempted to balance the bags in my arms without losing the lot.
What was that smell? I knew it was something vaguely familiar, but what?
Suddenly it hit me… Cheezels!
But why was there such a powerful stench. It was as if a hundred boxes of Cheezels had been opened and scattered around the house then stomped on, like grapes in a vat.
“Hello?” I called out nervously.
I’d only just dropped Padraic off to collect his car from the mechanic. I’d seen Lulu working at the Donut Shop just minutes before. Hagar was still in Thailand and Jonah and Thaddeus were at work so I knew it wasn’t any of the kids.
But why would a burglar be eating Cheezels on the job? I could understand if he’d nicked a beer from the fridge while he was robbing me of my big screen telly, but savoury snacks?
But why was there such a powerful stench. It was as if a hundred boxes of Cheezels had been opened and scattered around the house then stomped on, like grapes in a vat.
“Hello?” I called out nervously.
I’d only just dropped Padraic off to collect his car from the mechanic. I’d seen Lulu working at the Donut Shop just minutes before. Hagar was still in Thailand and Jonah and Thaddeus were at work so I knew it wasn’t any of the kids.
But why would a burglar be eating Cheezels on the job? I could understand if he’d nicked a beer from the fridge while he was robbing me of my big screen telly, but savoury snacks?
Didn’t sound like a very tough thief.
I made my way tentatively down the hallway ready to slam any intruder in the side of the head with my bag of tinned tomatoes. Surely even I could take down a Cheezel-eating housebreaker?
The dogs were both skulking at the back screen door with tails down, eyes bulging and ears flattened against their enlarged skulls.
I made my way tentatively down the hallway ready to slam any intruder in the side of the head with my bag of tinned tomatoes. Surely even I could take down a Cheezel-eating housebreaker?
The dogs were both skulking at the back screen door with tails down, eyes bulging and ears flattened against their enlarged skulls.
But they weren’t looking frightened. Oh no, they both wore that hang-dog, remorseful expression of shame and guilt as was their custom after committing one of their heinous atrocities.
So it was them! I should have known.
What had they done this time?
So it was them! I should have known.
What had they done this time?
I was used to scenes of carnage; for example the time I came home and they’d completely destroyed twelve toilet rolls and left a blizzard of tissue from one end of the house to the other.
The smell of cheese was stronger in the lounge room so I wandered back in to investigate the probable crime scene.
Then I saw the reason for the pervasive and tangy bouquet of cheesiness. The little mongrels had been into the Parmesan left on the coffee table after the previous night’s spaghetti feast. The container lay on the floor opened and empty but I could feel the gritty remains of whiffy, hard, grated cheese underfoot.
It took ages to clean up and despite my best efforts the first thing Scotto said when he arrived home was, “Bloody hell! Who vomited in here?”
This is not a good turn of events since we have a stylish, classy Melbournian friend Mark, coming for lunch tomorrow.
What will he think of the Poinkers as he reclines on our couch enveloped in the heady aroma of puke?
The smell of cheese was stronger in the lounge room so I wandered back in to investigate the probable crime scene.
Then I saw the reason for the pervasive and tangy bouquet of cheesiness. The little mongrels had been into the Parmesan left on the coffee table after the previous night’s spaghetti feast. The container lay on the floor opened and empty but I could feel the gritty remains of whiffy, hard, grated cheese underfoot.
It took ages to clean up and despite my best efforts the first thing Scotto said when he arrived home was, “Bloody hell! Who vomited in here?”
This is not a good turn of events since we have a stylish, classy Melbournian friend Mark, coming for lunch tomorrow.
What will he think of the Poinkers as he reclines on our couch enveloped in the heady aroma of puke?
Pablo the Connoisseur
# Chihuahua for sale. Going cheap. Please apply below.
