Special, special snowflake moment of Aargh

Every now and then I manage something so spectacularly crazy that it goes past a moment of oops, and into the Special Snowflake category.

Going through the wrong door in a hotel bedroom wearing nothing but a towel was one of them. Getting whiplash from a boiled egg was another. (It's complicated. Let's just say I now have an aversion to microwave egg boilers, and leave it at that, shall we?)

Everybody has their ritual for getting ready for work. Mine involves lurching down to stick the coffee on, often passing Stacey in the passage doing her own Morning Zombie Shuffle.

Then I lurch back to my room, coffee in hand, to start the underwear-deodorant-clothing process. Then I have half my coffee as a reward for not putting anything on backwards and still being upright.

My deodorant sits on top of a little plastic chest of drawers. At the moment, there are two bottles of the stuff on there, as well as eyedrops, face serum, a really cool little oriental pot that I toss my spare change into, and a bottle of liquid black shoe polish, which is pretty handy when I grab my boots and realise they need a touch-up on the way out of the door.

Until yesterday morning, this was never an issue.

I realised I was running a bit short of time, and started rushing. I grabbed a bottle from the dresser, whipped the top off, and started frantically dabbing under my arms. Then I noticed that there were two little bottles of spray deodorant still lying on the chest of drawers, and that they were spray versions. I haven't used the roll-on stuff in months, since the last one I got felt like it was gluing my armpit shut. Also, there was a strange smell coming from ... me.

I peered down at the bottle I was holding, and said a very rude word. (Actually, I said several of them, some of which haven't been used since my last spider trauma.) About twenty seconds later I was frantically lathering up my armpits in the bathroom, trying to remove the black shoe polish I'd liberally applied.

Just so you know, that stuff is a mother to clean off when it dries, and it dries pretty damn fast when it's on skin.

Eventually I gave up, used quite  bit of perfume (this was not a good idea) and left the house.

For the rest of the day, every time I moved I caught a slight whiff of shoe polish. Combine this with perfume, and the results are pretty bad.

I've rarely been so grateful to get into a bath at the end of a day.