in which people with an olfactory fetish will be offended and boycott reading… and possibly auto mechanics, Simon Le Bon, and makers of fine leather shoes too
August 23, 2006
There I was driving all alone in the car. The little car, not the big van, which is a treat. A car I can park anywhere I want,to include parallel parking. I got to be all alone, listen to whatever music I wanted and have the windows rolled all the way down with the air conditioning on. And most importantly, with no one complaining.
As I was speeding down the highway I felt a drip on my right foot. Huh, I thought. That is odd.
But I pushed it out of my mind while I sped down the highway, hair whipping around my face, while I channeled my inner teenager. It was an 80’s flashback musicathon on the radio, so as long as I didn’t look at myself in the rearview mirror I could pretend I was still 14, listening to Duran Duran. I can still picture all the videos to those early 80’s songs, you know back in the day when everyone wanted their MTv so they could watch music videos all day, not whatever it is that MTV has on now.
Then it happened again, and I jolted out of my teenager tra-la-laing and became more concerned. Because cars aren’t supposed to be leaking fluids onto your feet while you drive. At least I don’t think so.
And then, because I am slightly crazy and know nothing about the mysterious inner workings of cars, my mind began to think of all the fluids in a car that could possibly be leaking onto my foot. And how the leaking of those fluids could be the cause of my untimely demise.
Perhaps it was a leak in a gas line, and it was dripping gas onto my foot and soon the entire car would burst into flame and my right foot would be gone. I hastily took my foot off the gas pedal and wiped it off behind my left calf.
I drove on a bit and felt another drop. Maybe it is the steering fluid. Isn’t there some kind of steering fluid that enables you to turn the steering wheel? I don’t know, but I bet there is something like that and it is all leaking out and soon I won’t be able to steer the car and I will crash and possibly DIE. I just hoped that I didn’t drive right over the median and into oncoming traffic, or over the side of the numerous small bridges that I must cross, because then I definitely would DIE. I decided that driving slowly in the right lane was probably my best bet.
Until I got bored of it and realized that I would be very late for my appointment if I kept it up.
But as it dripped again I suddenly thought, “I hope this doesn’t stain my shoe.” Careening into oncoming traffic or bursting into flame I could live with, but ruining a new pair of expensive shoes? No, that could not be allowed to happen.
So I decided to take my shoe off and drive barefoot, for good measure.
As I reached down and took off my shoe, I brought it up to my face to examine the fluid. It didn’t look out of the ordinary so I thought that I had better smell it. Just in case it is gasoline and the car is about to burst into a ball of flames. I could be prepared. And put the shoes in the back seat.
As I held the shoe up to my nose to take a whiff a car drove up in the left lane and the driver looked over at me. I’m sure he was wondering what sort of crazy person is driving the car that keeps speeding up, slowing down, and swerving all over the road.
And now he had his answer, the kind of person who sniffs their own shoes, that’s who.
updated to add: I think it was from the rain. That rain water was somehow leaking into the car. But it has never happened before or since and therefore my husband thinks I am crazy. Which I am. But I did not imagine this.
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