Toilet Humour II

These things only happen to me, of this I am certain.

I walked into my hotel bathroom earlier this evening, intent on freshening up before heading out to dinner for one in gai Paris. 'Hmmm, veal or beef, I wonder...', raged the carnivorous debate inside my mind as I absent-mindedly reached for the after shave up on my toiletry shelf.

Now it is a well-known fact that I have the coordination of a one-handed raccoon attempting to peel an apple with a blunt chisel, so it was no great surprise to me when my brain mistakenly sent the 'knock after shave off shelf' command to my hand, rather than the 'pick up and spray on neck area' impulse it had intended. Again, knowing myself, it was with even less surprise that I watched the bottle of after shave leap from its lofty perch with the grace of an Acapulco cliff diver...

... straight into the toilet bowl.

Just as a hearty 'Woops-a-daisies!' was about to escape my angry mouth, I was overcome with a realisation so blindingly brilliant that my knees nearly buckled beneath me. I stumbled into my room and collapsed onto the bed, exploding with silent laughter. Before long, I was struggling to contain a gushing torrent of tears and my sides ached as though felled by the lusty blows of many rusty axes.

It took me a full two minutes to recover my composure and rescue the aptly-named Aqua by Carolina Herrera from its porcelain paddling pool. It would be a while before I would stop grinning from ear to ear as I came to terms with the fact that my after shave had undergone the most severe gender change the world of perfume has to offer.

For after shave it no longer was, it had become

eau de toilette...