The Scent of a Woman.

As I go about my day to day business of hexing and thinking up new ways to get my revenge, I look to my elders and those with more experience for inspiration and general cantankerousness.

I often find an endless supply of loonies at our local library whose odd traits never cease to surprise me - during Monday's visit, an elderly gentleman sat reading the local Guardian, picking his nose, belching, and farting without a care in the world. Oh, to live in a world of such sublime disregard for social morès!

Today, as I sat at the library, printing off some documents (my crappy, crappy printer has broken and I cannot get three knives into the slots at the same time to open it up), deeply ensconced in my thoughts, my nostrils were assaulted by the most lethal stench of stale urine and body odour I have encountered in a long time. It was like sticking my nose into a bottle of Sal Volatilé, so dramatic was my recoil.

I turned to isolate the source of the smell, and there, talking loudly to herself, peering at the local papers, was a sweet-looking (but not smelling) little old lady. She kept up a running commentary to nobody in particular that she was going to read the funeral section, "...although they don't call them funerals in this day and age, do they?" (I was quite intrigued at this point, to know exactly what they are called, so I fine-tuned my hearing, and stuck my nose into my armpit, which even at 3pm, smelt sweeter than the air in the library since it had been polluted.

"No, they call them oh-bit-CHEW-aireez now, don't they. Yes, that's right. Oh, I see that Jane has died again (again?) and there'll be an oh-bit-CHEW-airy for her, I reckon. Not that she was a nice woman. Oh no, she'll rot in hell that one. Wonder what she died of this time..."

I had completely gone off-track at this point, forgotten what I was there for, and sat, not even pretending to be busy, listening to this potty old lady.

She started to review the jobs section, stating that she would be a dab hand as a Personnel Officer - indeed, she could do the job standing on her head...And so it continued.

My PC flashed at me that my time was up, and so, I got up and walked to the desk to collect my print-outs, all the time listening to the soliloquy going on behind me. There was another old woman at the desk, checking out her books; a very strontient, loud lady, who had told the whole library earlier that she was after a young man, looks not important, to taxi her around the shops as she was fed up with walking. I am not sure if she was deaf, or just liked to talk at the top of her voice, but I think the whole village was familiar with her comings and goings after five minutes.

As I reached for my print-outs, the loud woman declared, "IT BECOMES OVER-POWERING AFTER A BIT, DOESN'T IT? THE SMELL, YOU KNOW!" I dropped my sheets in surprise, and lifted my chin up from the floor, as, without missing a beat in her one-woman performance show, the smelly old lady, retorted, "No it doesn't, and you should shut your big fat mouth, you rotten old cow!" and then continued to bemoan the recurrent death of Jane.

I'm afraid an embarrassing cackle escaped from me, and I stared at the librarian, whose hysterical stare must have mirrored mine. The cackle turned into a loud laugh and I grabbed my stuff and scarpered.

As I got through the doors, the loud lady had started up a battle with the smelly lady. I have no idea whether they had to call in enforcements to break it up, and I certainly wouldn't like to say who I would have backed if I was a gambling woman. But libraries are fast becoming my favourite hang-out for free entertainment. Who needs television when you've got smelly vision?

Is That Bull Sh*t I Can Smell?

So, I was reliably informed, yesterday, that, ‘Kate Moss has her third Top Shop collection out, like and it’s soooo gorgeous and she has these reeeaaaally cool scarves which go down to your feet, like, (handy for tripping over and blaming, when you are high as a kite (or should that be 'kate'?) on cocaine) and ohmygod, I just reeeaaaallly, have to have a pair of her new kick leg jeans. Like.’

I was dragged over to look at the collection displayed in the paper and my immediate thought was, Bloody hell, there’s that talentless, ill-looking tosser, creaming money off the public to fund her bloody drugs habit AGAIN! The clothes were OK, but no better than what I could get in the charity shops for a fraction of the price.

I am so bored with these B-listers releasing their eponymous perfumes, handbags, aftershaves, jeans, salad dressings etc. Is there a single Po’ White Trash B-lister who hasn’t released a fragrance yet? I think Britney has about four out, so far. And they’re all to mask the smell of spew when she decides to barf (again) over anyone within a five metre radius of her. Kylie has a fragrance, J-Lo has a fragrance, Jade Goodie (she of one brain cell and racist tendencies) has a fragrance, even David Beckham has a fragrance. And do you know what? They All Smell The Same. Honestly.

For the purposes of research, I toddled off down to our local chemist on Saturday morning to annoy the hell out of the lazy shop assistants, who like nothing better than to analyse the prescriptions from the doctor and go into a huddle at the back and gossip about Mrs Pritchard’s most recent STD, Amelia Smythe’s boil and where it might be, and my addiction to Solpadeine, instead of bloody serving me!!

So, I harrumphed and coughed at the perfume counter, until one of them waddled over. And it was the one who really unnerves me as she has football eyes (one home, one away), teeth that remind me of roof slates, sinus problems, and the broadest Cheshire accent you could stumble across (for broad Cheshire, read, thick-sounding).

She immediately tried to fob me off with one of the Beckham Brand toiletries, but I was there for the duration, and demanded to go through all of them, exposing various pale and uninteresting parts of my body in the name of science.


First up, Britney’s Curious, a ‘white floral wrapped in the sensuality of vanilla-infused musk with base notes of puke (I made that last bit up)’. The bottle is nasty. A squat, plasticky-looking blue thing which just screams Trailer Trash at you. The smell was revolting. It reminded me of one of those perfumes your Dad buys you for Christmas when you are eight: always by Lentheric.

J-Lo’s Love At First Glow was next. Even the name made me cringe – that woman goes through blokes like a dose of Epsom Salts. And when I was in my yoof, there was an expression we chanted: ‘Ladies Glow, Men Perspire and Horses Sweat’. So basically, we stick this perfume on at the first sign of BO, eh? The smell was cloying, sickly and my temples started to pulse alarmingly.


So, I moved on to Jade Goodie’s ‘Shh…’, which is a superb brand name, as it is exactly what the British public would like her to do. Sales of this perfume have plummeted since her racist faux pas on one of the Big Brothers, I believe. Somehow, though, I don’t think it would be high up on any discerning woman’s Christmas Wish List. Insipid, cheap-smelling and nothing to recommend it. At all.

Celine Dion’s Belong ‘was inspired by a woman’s inner beauty…’ So, if you are butt ugly on the outside, squirt some of this behind your ear lugs and all of a sudden, your inner beauty will be revealed. Is that what you are trying to tell me?

I wish I could write some of this marketing tosh. I’d be laughing all the way to the bank. My ageing mother had tried Belong on last time she was carted off to hospital and had thence escaped to the hospital gift shop. I think she was hinting strongly to my father that she wouldn’t mind a bottle, but he was having none of it and changed the subject to the progress of his runner beans. This perfume, too, was nasty and reminded me of those sweeties that pull your fillings out as your jaw desperately tries to masticate them - Chewits.


I was starting to get a thumping headache by this time and decided that I would call it quits, but not before casting a beady eye over the men’s fragrances. Aftershaves possess such namby-pamby names these days, such as ‘Style In Play’; ‘Instinct’; ‘Le Male’ (which just sounds as though somebody is experimenting with Franglais); ‘Declaration’; ‘Ultravoilet’ and ‘Loser’ (probably). At least we knew where we stood with Brüt. Naff as it was, there was no risk of it being mistaken for women’s fragrance. These days, all men’s stuff has to shout its gender-orientation at you - Pour Homme, For Him, Men’s Fragrance - as the bottles, smells and names are so effeminate, you could quite easily purchase some for a woman.

So, I staggered out into the semi-fresh air and walked back home, marvelling at how easy it is for talentless oiks to make even more money these days, purely by putting their name on some scented water.


When I become rich and famous, I am going to launch my own product range. And I shall call it Mersey. Mersey for Blokes, and Mersey for Lasses. All perfumes will be authenticated by containing pure River Mersey water; the lotions will contain a bit of Mersey Trout; and the scrubs, a smidgen of riverbed dredging to really take the dead skin off. If I tap the river up by the pet food factory, you may even find some chicken’s feet in there too. A sure winner, of that I am certain.

Photos courtesy of stock308.com; Daily Mail; Kelkoo

A Song for the Loved Ones...

There comes a time in everyone's life when they feel a bit blue, are tired of being single, no longer wish to Hex the Ex, and just want to spread a bit of love around the world.

Here at HexMyEx, we are not hard-hearts: if you prick us, do we not bleed? If you poison us, do we not die? If you nick anything off us, do we not come round with a baseball bat and reappropriate our goods?

Yesterday, Sir Matt and I were trying to find romantic songs to reflect our feelings for our dearly lost exes, and came across this. We are sure this will touch a chord with all of you. The Red Neck dub is especially plaintive...

Julian Lennon - Too Late For Goodbyes

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YOU DIDN'T REALLY THINK IT WOULD BE SOPPY, DID YOU? SUCKERS!

A Random Meme

This is the first time Hex My Ex has been tagged so forgive me if I make lots and lots of mistakes and screw up. It was sent by Mark Dykeman at the Uncanny Broadcasting Brain Blog, so send all your complaints over there, please!

The Rules of this tag:

1. Link to your tagger and post these rules.
2. List eight (8) random facts about yourself.
3. Tag eight people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them).
4. Let them know they’ve been tagged by leaving them a comment on their blogs.

OK, eight completely random facts about Agnes Mildew:


1. Agnes Mildew is not my real name (You didn't really think it was, did you? Aw, come on, do I LOOK like an Agnes?)
2. Mowing the lawn is my second favourite household task after hitting my head against a brick wall repeatedly.
3. I don't like eating other people's fried eggs.
4. I am trying to overcome my fear of spiders and have left one to live in the corner of my bathroom (actually, I simply can't be fagged hauling the vac up the stairs to suck it away - is this fact 5, then?)
5b. I wrote a book seven years ago. Last year I thought about getting it published and asked the ex to send me the files by email. One of the files is either corrupt or incomplete, so the ending is not there. Typical!
6. I am too lazy to re-write the ending.
7. My dream car would be a Mini Cooper S, in purple, (suicide blue, my friend calls it) with a soft top.
8. I have a verrucca on my left foot which is hurting immensely at the moment. I have had it for months and thought it was a corn and thus did nothing about it. After some intense surgery with a Bic razor two days ago, my fears were confirmed.

I have decided that I don't like memes. Thank you for this, Mark, you broke my meme virginity, but please, nobody send me another!

I shall tag some poor unsuspecting people now...sorry guys!

Alcoment
Fishwithoutbicycle
Sudohnim
Modicum of Decorum
Earth2Karen
Amel's Realm

The Dialectizer

At great expense to our reader, we have translated the HexMyEx site into Redneck which you can read here.

I found it read much better this way.