What's that smell?

I've never had a great sniffer, in my line if work sometimes that comes in handy.  I remember in my freshman year of vet school, the girls in my anatomy disecction group used to rub Vick's vapor rup under their noses prior to lab, in order to hide the smell.  I never had to resort to such measures.

Fast forward several years, and my wife and I now teach the five year olds a sunday school class at church.  Recently I was called out during church to go retreat a colicky horse that I'd been working on.  Having already treated this horse once, I thought it would be a fairly quick call where I could just give the horse a second dose of painkillers and make it back in time to teach the lesson I had prepared for the five year olds.  Because time was tight, and I thought I knew what was in store I didn't bother changing out of my suit.

I did take my jacket off, roll up my sleeves, and throw on a pair of coveralls before I began.   It soon became apparent that this horse wasn't doing as well as I'd hoped, and I decided I needed to do a rectal examination on the horse to get a better idea of what was causing his symptoms, and what his prognosis might be.  So, I drug the horse, put on a shoulder length sleeve, lube up my arm, and begin the examination.  Keep in mind that I've already administered mineral oil (a laxative) to this horse the day before.  Well the rectal exam relieves my anxiety as to the horses prognosis as all feels normal inside, so I remove my arm.  The horse must have been straining somewhat at the presence of my arm, because pulling it out results in something like I've seen in professional locker rooms when they've just won the championship and are popping the corks on the champagne.

The problem is, I'm standing directly behind the "champagne" bottle, and the "champagne" is a mixture of mineral oil, and the stuff that the mineral oil was given to help slide out.  My face is completely covered, along with my coveralls.  The coveralls I quickly strip off, hoping to get them off before the "champagne" has soaked through to my suit.  My face I wipe off with a paper towel.  

Taking stock of the situation, I assess that one spot on my pant leg has some slight discoloration and the suit will need dry cleaned, but it's not "too bad."  If I leave now, and go directly back to church I will still be in time to teach the lesson, meaning  my wife won't have to cover for me, and I won't be in the doghouse.

I stop by the restroom in the church.  Wash my face and hands a little better, and walk into the classroom where our class is just arriving.  Soon my classes noses start to wrinkle, and a little girl raises her hand.  "Yes?"  I ask.  "Brother Mathis, did you toot?"  That's when it hits me that perhaps that slight discoloration I'd noticed on my pants leg is worse than I'd thought.

I didn't bother explaining the smell.  But fortunately for my class, Sister Mathis had some Vick's vapor rub in her purse.