Wednesday, November 7, 2012

How to Defend your Manhood with Chanel

I had a rather vivid dream last night and I am reaching out for help to understand its meaning.  I have no access to professional help, if it's even needed, so my mental well-being lies in your hands.

Holly and I had a somewhat substantial role in a celebrity soccer match.  The teams were sprinkled with professional European footballers and every day people donated money to charity for the chance to play with these stars.

The game was close, ending with me scoring the winning goal in extra time on a penalty kick.  Holly insisted it was set up similarly to when the Harlem Globetrotters help a nine year old kid from the audience slam dunk a basketball, but I know it was my innate ability as a natural athlete, even if they did give me a second chance after I missed the ball on my initial kick.

Anyway, that's not the weird part.  After the game Holly needed to rejuvenate and retired to a quiet room to rest.  After obligingly accepting my congratulatory wishes, I entered this room to find her laying with her back to the door on a daybed with Gilles seated behind her, kissing the back of her neck.

Gilles was one of the celebrity players - French, suave, graceful, in possession of that rare ability to do everything effortlessly, with style and power.

I knew I had to act quickly to defend her honour and my manhood.  Holly regards me as her protector, so I knew I couldn't let that image be tarnished.

Any of you familiar with my blog knows I'm a bit of an athlete myself.  I've twice completed the 10 km portion of Halifax's Blue Nose Marathon and almost made it to the starting line of this year's Marathon By the Sea here in Saint John.  Of course, I also starred for the Armdale Executioners street hockey team.

Not wanting to end Gilles' soccer career, I decided to try to avoid giving him the physical thrashing he really deserved so, from my jacket pocket, I produced a sample size vial of Chanel Bleu.  You know what I mean, those little glass bottles that spray minuscule amounts of fragrance on you.  The bottles that look remarkedly similar to the vessels that contained precious stink-bomb fluid often used by unruly young boys.

As Holly whimpered lightly beneath his advances, clearly mistaking his soft lips for mine, I stealthily sneaked up behind him and pumped two squirts of the venomous liquid into his eyes.

He looked at me with the terror a coyote sees when bearing down upon a young rabbit and blinked a little.  The ingredients Chanel uses for their wares were apparently not as formidable as I had hoped.  Holly, confused by the commotion, turned to see Gilles' mildly irritated eyes, mistaking them for tears of sadness and then angrily assumed that I had done something to hurt his feelings and make him cry.

It was then that I awoke to voluminous feelings of anxiety and fear.  Holly is concerned that this is happening far too often and insists I look into counselling, but I told her I could handle it myself.

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