Stan was looking out of his bay window at the old rowan tree. in front of their semi detached house in a quiet  tree lined avenue in Knittingham.After some intense sunshine in August,its leaves had withered and he thought it might be dead.He had his microfibre cloth but was not even pretending to clean the window…. one of his duties in the homeHe was thinking pensively because  his wife Mary had told him he ought to be wearing an antiperspirant when they had a row the night before.
“But I’m 105,” he cried.”Surely,I don’t need an antiperspirant  now?”
“Don’t exaggerate,”Mary replied,”You are only 75.Do you  need Cognitive Age  Truth  Therapy as well”
“But do I smell nasty,” he asked her…ignoring the  faint hint he was exaggerating pathologically about his age.
“Well,it says in the Telegraph that all the Top People now wear deodorants.”
“Good grief, what made you read the Telegraph,that right wing apology for a newspaper?And I should say the  present government certainly need  strong deodorants.I have a good wash every day and a bath once in a blue moon…I am clean enough for my mistress!”Annie his mistress lived right next door to the surprise of all who thought they  knew them well.
“Well,I am taking you to Boot’s tomorrow to find one”
“How dare you order me about  like this.Even if I wanted to wear a deodorant I wouldn’t tolerate being  spoken to like that.~I am a man and I smell the same as always ;why don’t you buy me a new sponge and some decent soap in Sainsburys instead of this lavender rubbish.”
Mary began to sob quietly
“What’s wrong,my little jacket potato.” he asked her gently in the rough  language of  the North British.
“Well,maybe it’s my therapy…I have been recollecting memories of girls teasing me because we had only a tin bath in our house and no bathroom.It was cold going to the lavatory down the backyard as well,especially when I got dysmenorrhea………….otherwise known as period pains, when I might be there half an hour.
So I guess I thought I might smell nasty.I am reliving the pain and anguish and as a defense I am projecting my fear onto you,That’s maybe why I was so rude to you.”
“Eeh,by gum,she’s swallowed the Dictionary of Psychoanalysis not to mention the Encarta  too”thought Emile their smiling tom cat.
“Well,you do smell.Like honey.You smell just the way I like a woman to smell…Natural”
“How would you describe it,my onion pie?”
“Like a cat on heat ,my honeybum” he answered tenderly yet manfully.
“But surely you have never had intercourse with a cat?” she queried nervously yet longingly.
“No,not sexual intercourse, but I have slept with many lady cats and I know  well their varying smells,their mews and their claws.”
“Just like me” whispered Emile,” and I like how women smell too.I like perfume..especially Poison and Chanel N r5″
“So I shall  come to Boots with you and I shall buy you some perfume.Then we can have coffee and cake somewhere for a real treat.” Stan told Mary assertively.She kissed his fair white cheek.. now a little red from the sun,
“I like coffee and cake,”purred Emile,”And I want a deodorant and some cologne. and a few other things”
“I think I could put you in my It bag “,said Mary kindly….which would be a pleasant change for Emile.They often left him alone in the house though he could drop into Annie’s at any time…and watch her tidying her make up box out or having a bath with lots of foam.Emile adored her,
So soon they will be on their way into town in their best clothes.Will Emile sit on a chair or will he stand on Stan’s knee.Wait patiently…. he might break his saucer.

The future is fiction