Say Sole Sister

When I was young, we lived in a big, drafty house.  In the winter, after an afternoon (or whole day if it was Saturday) of playing outside, we would look forward to warming up in front of the hot air register.  It was conveniently located right under the TV set.  This was the perfect set up.  You could sit 6 inches from the TV, watch your afternoon cartoons, and have hot air blow on you.  If the adults were not around (or not paying attention) you could even eat a bowl of cereal at the same time. 

There were six kids living in my house.  We could get maybe 3 kids in front of the register.  Sometimes there were arguments over someone hogging the air, but we usually worked it out fairly. 

This one evening, before dinner, we were all huddled around the hot air, watching TV. The youngest in our family came in and squinched her way in front of the warmth.  After a couple of minutes, we noticed a certain odor.  It got worse. I moved away from the blower.  Pewwwww!  It had filled up the whole room.

I was the oldest.  I instructed the newcomer that she had to go wash her feet because they STANK!  She was about 4, so she complied.  Out the door, up the stairs, into the bathroom she went. 

She was gone just long enough for the smell in the room to dissipate.  When she came back down she resumed her seat in front of the heat with her newly washed feet. Here’s something I learned about four year olds that day:  they do not wash themselves well.  I sent her back to wash those puppies again.  I instructed her to use SOAP this time.  Away she went.  Out the door, up the stairs, and into the bathroom.

She was gone just long enough for the smell in the room to dissipate.  When she came back down she resumed her seat in front of the heat with her re-washed feet.  Several minutes went by… Nope.  Not good enough.

Me:  Your feet still stink. Go wash them.

Her:  I did.

Me:  You didn’t use soap.

Her:  I did

Me:  You didn’t use enough. Go wash them again.

Her:  STOMP STOMP Stomp stomp stomp….

She was gone much longer this time.  I remember thinking (after I remembered that I had sent her away and wondered why she wasn’t back yet) that this time she had probably done a good job.

She came back and sat in front of the heat.  Several minutes went by.  There was a new smell.  Not stinky feet.  Not soap either.  It was nice for a couple of seconds.  

She had used perfume.  She had used a lot of perfume.  She had used a WHOLE LOT of perfume. She had poured the bottle on her feet.  The room cleared.  She had the heater to herself.

And guess what?  Under the overwhelming smell of perfume 

was the smell of stinky feet.