I have a fond habit of Tweeting from the back of cabs: I look busy so it can often deter drivers from telling me their 12-step plan to save the economy (usually involving all immigrants being sent back to whence they came and women not being allowed to populate the job market etc) and I quite often reveal the whiffs I'm forced to travel with.
Last week, I had a particularly savoury experience. Nabbing a cab to get to a lunchtime meeting I was late for, I found myself climbing into Quite The Fug. Body odour, farts, stale air, and oh ... what was that? A top note of Monster Munch?
OH YAMMY, as Rachel Allen might say.*
I duly reported this to Twitter as I valiantly held my breath all the way round Stephen's Green. And then I got a Tweet from wholesomecook who said "yeuch. Had a hairdresser cut my hair after a bag of Tayto. Gross is beyond the description."
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Now, I've heard tell of someone having a facial right after the therapist's most recent fag break, and she hadn't washed her hands; I used to have a dentist who had the worst case of halitosis I'd ever encountered - but for someone to be putting their crispy hands in my hair ...
What about you? Got any disgusting treatment-related tales to recount?
*No slags for Ms Allen here, I think she is lovely incarnate and makes nice food you can actually cook without a PhD in Heston Blumenthal. I am just tickled by how she says yummy, is all.
