Smelly girl

The lady stood in the queue behind me is middle-aged, matronly and well-turned out in a smart blue coat and court shoes. But her nostrils are wrinkling and the corners of her mouth are twitching in disgust. It looks like it's taking all her self control not to reach out and hold her nose with her fingers.

I glance around in surprise. I'm in my favourite bakery, Merengue in Chesterfield, which has its own little cafe too, and the only thing I can smell is fresh bread and tempting food aromas coming from the kitchen.

Then I look down at myself. Oh. Perhaps the smell might be coming from me. The lady behind me takes a step backwards and my suspicions are confirmed.

You see, I often work a late shift on Thursday, which means I tend to pop into a few local shops in the morning. But it also means I tend to ride my horse.

And this morning the weather has been gruesome, so by the time I left the stables I had mud splattered up to my knees, a generous smattering of wet horse hairs on my coat, my own hair looked like seabirds had been nesting in it (the large squarking untidy kind of seabirds), and I was soaked right through to the skin thanks to the rain.

And of course, horses do smell. It's not the kind of odor that you notice when you spend a lot of time with them, but to the uninitiated they do have a certain scent.... (largely due to the fact that they go to the loo a lot)....

So anyway, windswept, stinking and unkempt, I then made my way round my local bakery, greengrocers and pharmacy. 

And in each shop I got pretty much the same reaction, with other customers raising their eyebrows and side-stepping to get out of my way. Even the shopkeepers, who are always polite and friendly, went to great lengths not to touch my hands as they handed over my change.

And because this is a regular weekly routine, I have a feeling I might be developing something of a local reputation as The Smelly Girl.

If further confirmation were needed, I arrive home to find a bunch of workman digging up my road. 'Here we go' I thought, stealing myself for the usual round of whistles and stares that they usually like to throw at any female with a pulse.

Nothing.

Silence from the workmen. A silence tinged with a hint of revulsion.

I scurried into my house and headed for the bathroom. With an afternoon of meetings ahead it was time to de-horse.