"Do you smell that?"

After a long afternoon of errands, Big Shooter walked in the house, through the living room, set some mail on the table in the kitchen, turned to me with a questioning look and asked, "Do you smell that?"

I thought, "Here we go. What smell could he be referring to with his Bionic Smell? Let's see could it be the bug bomb from yesterday, the burnt popcorn, bacon from breakfast, garlic at lunch, lingering fragrance of my perfume as I walked by him, or the Smelly Pug?" All of which, by the way, I cannot smell over the normal smell of the air freshener in the wall.

I said, "Sorry. Doesn't smell any different than normal"

"You're serious? You don't smell that?"

"Sorry Love. What's that smell like?"

"Like some one's been in here...painting with fingernail polish...but, we weren't here...soooo...", he finished as he got that I'll hunt down the intruder and make them pay for breaking into this house and painting their nails while we were away look.

"You're serious? You smell fingernail polish?" Wow. I continue to be surprised by this phenomenon. "Sorry to burst your bubble Love. But you aren't going to find any scary intruders with nicely painted nails in the closets or under the bed...I painted my toes in the bathroom before we left the house...about 4 hours ago."

Wow. (yes, again.) The disappointment. After weeks of being couped up & taken care of (read: bored out of his gourd), the prospect of finding an intruder with a feminine flair being yanked out from under him was a Huge Disappointment.

Mind you, not quite as big as having his Crackberry run over...twice.

But, a huge one none the less. So he went back to Lowe's to console his caveman soul.



Love Note to my Big Shooter: I love you Caveman. I love it when you beat your chest. I love it when you grunt. (well, kinda) I love it when you cook meat over a fire(ish). And I love it when you drag me to the back of the cave.