You know when you've cut onions and your fingers smell like onion for four years afterwards?No matter how many times you wash and scrub them under boiling water the smell of le' onion still lingers. Like Daryl Somers hanging around the bins behind a cheesecake shop hoping to score a too ripe slice of yesterday's french vanilla fat flan - there's no getting rid of the pesky stench.
You might rub your nose and notice that your fingers still smell like onion. You sniff your fingers curiously.
You should never do this.
All it takes for one person to see and you're looking at jail time or indefinite exclusion from your mixed netball team/yoga class. To any passerby you look like some sort of sexual deviant that has either a) conducted some sort of digit based fiddling on another person or b) enacted some sort of digit based fiddling on yourself. There's no way way to make it seem casual. You're immediately a fiend who is savoring the waft of some filthy warm achievement.
If you screw up your nose at the scent of the onion it makes it look a million times worse. Actually, it's probably worse if you chuckle and say "It's still there!" There's no way out. You're locked in. Forever the seediest person ever.
Onions. What about them? (potential start of my standup routine. Then I'll point out the difference between men and women and end with something about something that didn't actually happen but I'll say it did. Raw comedy finalist. In the bag.)
I guess you don't want to be the sort of person that cuts onions with gloves though. I mean you'd probably look like an even greater sex pest (level 7 jizz wizard) if potential dining partners found used latex gloves all over the kitchen. What kind of shit have you been pulling? You think your dinner guests are going to be down for that jazz? You have some nerve buddy!
You're fucked. Might as well stay home and eat peanut butter out of the jar/make witch haus songs on garageband/cut your hair.
