Got an itch down there?
Caught your best friend doing the horizontal square dance with the coach’s wife? Then maybe you’re a fan of euphemisms. Gotta say, my favourite euphemisms are the ones you make up yourself, like…she’s gone to order cocktails in the bar of no return. He’s checking her y axis. She’s making small talk with the angels, but he’s down here hunting truffles in the dark. She’s gone to hide an easter egg in the ladies’ while he’s putting out fires in the porcelain. She likes her doughnuts with icing on, if you know what I mean, but he likes to waltz on bare boards…
Here’s a little story about euphemisms…
“Good morning sir.”
“Yes?”
Detective Constable O’Brien looks past into the hall, and sniffs.
“Do you mind if I come in, sir? There’s been a complaint about a smell…”
“I’m otherwise engaged.”
“Sir, as I said there’s been reports of an odour…”
“I have a tendency to blow my own trumpet, if you understand me. Sometimes it can be…somewhat offensive to the olfactory area.”
“I’m afraid I’m not following you, sir.” DC O’Brien steps smartly into the hallway. Oh God, the stink. “There’s a rather nasty smell in here, sir, the neighbours have complained. Do you mind if I investigate?”
“Yes I do! I have a cat, you see, and she’s visiting the powder room. That’s probably the cause of the…infumation. I don’t clean out the litter as often as I should these days.”
“It’s more than just cat poop, sir. Now if you don’t mind..”
“No! Tiddles is very… aware of the proprieties, and she doesn’t like people watching her when she attends to matters of a southerly persuasion.”
“What?” DC O’Brien is now more than a little suspicious. “Sir, I think you may have something dead in the house. If you’ll just let me – “
“Dead? Certainly not. Tiddles is very much on this earthly plane. If my wife were here, she’d…”
“You’re married? And, ah, where is your wife presently, sir?”
“My dear wife was invited to attend a celestial soiree. Although she still resides with me. She occupies the best bedroom in the manor of my heart, if you understand me… “
DC O’Brien’s ears twitch. “Er…”
“She’s attending choir practice in the clouds. Sipping ambrosia cocktails in the bar of no return. Making small talk with the incorporeal…”
DC O’Brien is running out of patience. “I see. And how long ago did your wife die?”
“Oh, she’s not dead. In fact she’s very much alive, and probably more active than she’s ever been. On a cellular level. Quite a haven for nature, in fact.”
“Just to be clear,” says DC O’Brien, with a sense of foreboding. “Is your wife deceased, or not?”
“Let’s just say she never watched the finale of The Bold and The Beautiful. The sands in her hourglass have trickled to a halt. She has tiptoed over that border that needs no passport. She has…”
Oh no. “Sir, is there…a dead body on these premises?”
“Arnold?” An old woman pokes her head out from the back room. “Are you off fishing today? I’ve got three buckets of maggots here, and the smell is rather…. oh, pardon me, I didn’t realise we had company!”
If you’ve got a great euphemism you made up yourself, share it here and you might just win a $10 Amazon gift voucher at the end of August!
Photo by Marc Schaefer on Unsplash