I should know better

In my last minute shopping rush, I found myself at the perfume counters of several large stores. Usually I was the only woman in a crowd of deeply embarrassed and unhappy men, all looking as shifty as if they were in a porn shop in a back alley.

Some were downright hopeless, and muttered that they wanted "something nice". One announced confidently that he was all right as he had "brought the box", presumably pilfered from her dressing table.

The one in front of me said confidently that "she" wore Prada.

"Certainly sir," said the girl. "Which of the four Prada fragances?"

He went white. She obligingly named the four. "Well, it`s Prada" he repeated.

I told him that Prada was a fashion house. "It`s as if you went to buy a car and just said `I want a Ford`"

He brightened momentarily. "Wish I was buying a car!"

I don`t like any of the Prada fragrances. "Why don`t you just choose the brightest box?" I suggested.

I could see this idea was a hit with a number of the men. I shudder to think what the garish result of this rash suggestion was. I probably ruined the Christmas of quite a few women at that point.

Meanwhile I have two Christmas invalids - Decibelle with a urinary infection, and Julian with wome strange nameless thing which involved a visit to the vet and a prolonged examination whith revealed nothing but a mouth ulcer and a temperature....oh, and all the urine he had refused to pass the day before, with which he obligingly flooded the surgery. "At least we now have a specimen", said the vet brightly.

I dreaded hearing that they wanted to keep him in "for observation", which at this festive time of year would involve a contract written in blood signing over all the assets of me and my heirs in perpetuity.

However he is home, unwilling to do anything but stand or lie about, not eating or drinking and still devoid of other symptoms. I have no idea what his problem is.

I know all too well what mine are,and hope to forget them all for a bit over Christmas with my obliging relatives.