Whisky Works – As the Barrel Turns (Unlucky Episode 13)

Believe it or not, Dr Andrew Thomson was playing hockey last night at midnight. Rink time is hard to come by here, so once a month the boys play a late night game of shinny.

We’re guessing a black cat walked by — or more likely, the charcoal grey feral feline that haunts our neighbourhood paid a visit. And he’s not nicknamed Stinky Grey Cat for nothin’.

While Dr Thomson pooh-poohs superstition, it seems the pooh-pooh is on the other shoe — so to speak. Since the stroke of midnight, bad smells have been following the good doctor. First, his newly purchased, manly “Sport” deodorant, as seen below, turned out to smell more like the perfume of choice at a church tea. Hardly the kind of scent that inspires scoring both on the ice and off.

Having arrived home late, Thomson decided to leave the sweaty equipment in the car overnight.

Thank heavens for Lysol.

Now fully awake after his nasal assault, Thomson attempted to unpack the kit bag.

This third strike made Thomson wary of executing Turn 13 himself. “I’m not triskaidekaphobic,” Thomson said. “But I don’t often get to use this word outside of that one glorious Scrabble victory. Besides, why take chances?”

To undo the bad luck, he called upon his sainted mother-in-law. After all, if a hospice worker can’t do a good turn, who can?

Wynne Christie arrived within minutes of his desperate call and was eager to lend a helping hand.

Good thing, too. The eagle-eye Mrs. Christie spotted a leak from last week’s turning. Tsk, tsk. The bung wasn’t fully re-inserted and precious whisky was potentially leaking, but between the Lysol and Mennen, it’s hard to know.

Like all good mothers, without having to be asked, she took control of the situation.

Having survived the potentially fateful 13th turn, the family heaved a collective sigh of relief and has dashed off to buy horseshoes and scour the newly exposed lawn for four-leafed clovers.

* The curse continues. I misspelled “episode” in the title of the original post (since fixed). If the whisky fails to age in a suitable manner, we’ll never know if it’s the product or the curse.