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More Kombucha Adventures

I smell funny.

I first noticed it earlier this week – I was just settling down to a quick online game of “Day of Defeat” (possibly the best multiplayer online game ever) when I got a waft of something quite unique. My first thought was that I’d left a window open and somewhere nearby a sewer had burst. Next was the rats – I have two rats called “Minky” originally bought as a psychology training experiment – this situation changed when I realised that it was in fact me that was being trained by them. Cute, furry and with razor sharp wit, they know exactly how to get me to give them what they want. From next month I’m charging them rent.

So, no burst sewers and no rats with stomach upsets. This left one unpalatable possibility – it was me. And since the smell seemed to follow me room to room, I guessed this was the case. I cupped my hand over my armpit and took a sniff.

I nearly fell over.

Kombucha.

I smell bad because of the Kombucha. It has taken me a few days for the realisation to arrive. It isn’t sweat exactly, it’s my skin – my skin smells. As for Brown Matter – I now have to ensure the window is wide open prior to evacuation. I expect a call from Environmental Health any day now. I’m going to check Ebay for gas masks. I used to have one I picked up from a car book sale for £10. It was one of those, “Wow! It’s a gas mask!” moments and I just had to buy it.

I returned home and proudly showed Official Housemate of my purchase.

“What the fuck do you want a gas mask for?” She does swear a lot.

“Ummmm…It’s like a shoes-for-women thing,” I floundered.

My guess is that it’s a boy thing that girls just don’t, or cannot, understand.

The mask spent the next few weeks sitting embarrassedly in the Holy Drawer of Junk and I re-sold it a month later to an eager collector. When he looked at it, he kind of caressed it with an excitable glint in his eye. I took the money and hurried him out of the door quick – excitable guys with fetishes make me nervous. They remind me of a family dog we used to own that used to try and shag the cat whenever it got excited. I did feel sorry for that cat, it really never stood a chance.

So yesterday you can imagine my delight when Official Housemate arrived home seconds after I emerged from the bathroom.

“Jesus! What the fuck is that smell?” I do wish she wouldn’t swear like that.

“It’s the Kombucha.” I explained.

“What? In my airing cupboard?” She complained, clearly concerned for her posh embroidered linen. The implied ownership of the airing cupboard didn’t go unnoticed.

“No, in my bottom,” I continued.

“Oh Jesus, you didn’t do a colonic with it?! Oh dear God! You are sick, seriously, you need help.”

She's still upset that I used her coffee for the earlier, nearly fatal and not to be repeated, DIY colonics.

Now, because I still have to interact with other ostensibly "normal" people, this detox thing is getting complicated. Official Housemate is mostly staying out of the house and the people at work think I’ve gone crazy. The thing at work seems to primarily been brought about by my strange eating habits and the anti-bacterial wipes I use to disinfect my telephone, computer keyboard, desk etc. This is sensible as I’m only there two days a week and the rest of the week my office is used by other people.

“So is this a Michael Jackson thing?” one colleague asked me.

“No, it’s a ‘flu thing. It’s the ‘flu season and I’m not catching it.”

They’ve been taking the piss ever since. Bastards.

So, my plan is simple. Later today, I’m going to buy some bottles of “Lipton Ice Tea”, drink the tea and refill them with Kombucha. I shall take the bottles in with some nice homemade "Sennakot" cake for the team meeting on Tuesday.

Revenge shall be mine.

I'm purging.

Oh, how I laugh!