She thought of a surprise <br />for him, and for herself. <br />The shop was advertising, <br />half price today, just for today, <br />the cream called ICE, a gel, <br />containing top grade menthol, <br />all imported stuff, from Paris. <br />You would apply it, gently now, <br />much like a prophylactic thingy, <br />and watch the world explode <br />and magic bring the pink and rosy <br />clouds of new pleasures to you. <br />She wondered briefly about cubes, <br />straight from the freezer in the den, <br />but then decided to believe in modern, <br />and scientific chemistry, life science. <br /> <br />Turned out it felt like liquid rubber, <br />of the cheapest kind, it smelled <br />like Nikes from last week, after the run. <br />It acted like an anti-slip material <br />which wasn't what the moment called for. <br /> <br />She does have guts, that woman, <br />confronted Mr Manager next day, <br />told him about the wasted dough <br />and that the label said it guaranteed <br />your satisfaction. Told him to try it, <br />at home. And got her money back. <br /> <br />While hubby hid behind the rhubarb leaves.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ice-gel/
