Richard was hovering in the aisle for 'Mens Products'.
The deodorant was giving him grief; there was just
too much choice. He had narrowed it down to two:
this one had 'forty-eight hour protection' and also
contained bits of silver.
This one had an 'extra cool scent'.
Of course, forty-eight hours was the safe option.
It would mean application could be more spaced out.
He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the
palms of his hands, and as he did so the words
'extra cool' flashed up, in various technicolours.
He couldn't resist. After all, only clouds have
silver linings (well, clouds and expensive wristwatches)
and maybe smelling extra cool might mean
he could finally attract a girl to be his wife.
Women like people that are extra cool, don't they?
He took his selection up to the cashier,
a thirty-something, peroxide blonde woman
with beetroot coloured lipstick. She asked him
if there was anything else that he needed (he said no)
and as he handed over the cash (£2.85) their
fingers brushed. As he left the shop,
a smile teased the corners of Richard's mouth.