Sniff, Sniff

Every once in a while it happens that I’m getting out of the gym, a sweaty smelly piece of goods that even your cat would hesitate to drag in, and there, lo and behold, would stand my boss. Or someone else, I’m trying to make a favorable impression on for that matter. And, as it happens in the civilized world, this someone would stop and make polite conversation about this and that but before moving on to more interesting things he or she would sniff. A single sniff, nose up the air, as if trying to assess the source of a gas leak. And that single sniff would spell the end of a productive morning or afternoon.

It happened today. Conscious of a certain pair of smelly gym socks I decided to mitigate it by eating my lunch in my cubicle in the hope that the pungent smell of indian masalas would compensate. Fat chance! When the boss man dropped by for a chat he sniffed and said "It is hot in here!”. I had to gag the impulse to say "If by that you mean that something is smelly around here, let me assure you that it is not me but a pair of malodorous socks."

But I stopped myself. Owning to smelly feet is as fatal to career progression as owning to smelly armpits.