Ending off harvesting with a delightful Buschenschank meal.
The Bobster and I sat next to each other in a big round of eight people. We had just finished picking grapes ( alas this year the harvest was so minimal that eh, one has to consider drinking less wine this coming year, yikes!!! ) and were enjoying our meal.
A whiff of something offensive caught my nostril and knowing it was not me, I did a quick eyebrow raise at the Bobster and when he had a confused look, even went so far as to spell it out for him, in English of course:
" D-i-d y-o-u b-a-f-f? "
" W-h-a-t? N-o, h-o-w d-a-r-e y-o-u! "
Of course he coupled this whispered exchange between us with an outraged expression but also did a quick, surreptitious reconnaissance to see if anyone looked guilty. ( That might be an interesting look indeed ) A few times during the meal, a similar exchange happened and the two of us were heavily involved in a round of speculation. Quietly.
As we all were tired from a day of picking and carrying, we called it a day after our meal and a spritzer or two. It had been a wonderful Saturday spent deepening the tradition of wine harvest, as it is usually the same lot coming together for this event. Nice, comforting and root building, which is something I love due to having lived abroad for so long.
A round of goodbyes ensued and I was the first one in our car. Bob was still talking to mum. That's when I was confronted with a gagging smell. A smell coming from my shoes.
With a sinking feeling of dread, I picked up one foot at a time to see and almost gagged when I saw and more importantly smelled that I had decorated one of my shoes with doggy poo at some stage in the afternoon. Oh dear, there I had falsely apportioned blame to everyone at the table, when it was me all along, or rather the poo at the bottom of my shoe!
Embarrassingly, only Bob and I were privy to the source of the questionable aroma, and the two of us might might still be suspected as the offenders.Quelle blamage!