Deer urine on aisle five


It appears our lives revolve around four things. Eating, shopping, working and sleeping.

In recent years I began noticing that when we begin planning a vacation, the same questions always surface first. What restaurants are in the area? I remember when we used to be more interested in beaches, amusement parks and breath-taking scenery in unique surroundings.

“Where are we going? Hawaii? What is the food like? Do I have to eat pineapple with every meal?” How silly is that conversation?

A few years ago, we traveled to North Padre Island, Texas. The scenery is beautiful, our accommodations, while nearly disastrous, turned out exceptionally well. However, we learned that because we did not ask about available dining, there was not much available. Our mistake was leaping to the conclusion that North Padre Island was like South Padre Island which is more of a spring break party town with more dining offerings. Now, if I am referred to a doctor or medical facility for testing, I inquire about nearby dining options.

The working part seems to never end, and now that we are self-employed, it really never does.

As for sleeping, that seldom occurs also, but we talk about it quite a lot.

Shopping is not something I’ve ever had a passion for, but I was not opposed to it. Since becoming self-employed, I often view a trip to the neighborhood Walmart as a cool road trip. Yes, that’s how sad life can become.

Recently, my wife and I took that road trip and upon entering the store we noticed a rather unattractive odor, but at first didn’t give it much thought. After traversing up and down a few aisles the repugnant odor became stronger and stronger.

We began looking at other shoppers, then we looked to see if something was hiding among the merchandise, and then I noticed my wife looking at me as if to say, “What did you do?” The words never emerged from her beautiful lips, but I knew that ugly thought was at work behind those green eyes.

I looked at her and emphatically protested, “It’s not me!” Naturally, when all bystanders heard my exclamation of denial, they, too, thought it was me and hurried away like a drop of oil dropped into water.

I found myself with an uncontrollable urge to assure everyone up and down each aisle that the terrible smell was not me. However, they would not allow me to get close enough to convey my message. They ran like frightened mice holding their noses.

Realizing that my dip into the river of denial (see what I did with that? I made it sound like the river Nile. Never mind.) was futile, I began a quest to uncover the true cause of the disgusting smell.

Just then, an observant employee of the store, overhearing our discussion of the putrid smell, at last showed pity on me and revealed that someone had accidentally dropped and broken a case of deer urine back in aisle 5, and someone had been summonsed to do clean up, but really, no one wanted to.

My wife insisted we move to another area of the store away from the smell, but I convinced her that I wanted to show her some things I really needed around the house near aisle 5. Reluctantly, she followed holding her nose.

I thought it was funny until I overheard my wife asking a customer service rep if they would replace after shave with deer urine in a decanter as a gift for me. Thankfully, they declined, and I am not accepting gifts from my wife this year.

Herb Day is a longtime local radio personality and singer-musician. You can email him at [email protected] and follow his work at and

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