After Fred's embarrassing disaster with the ladies from Hollyrock, things were tense at the Flintstones' home. Wilma, feeling quite hurt, had retreated to her soft fur bed, while Fred had to sleep outside in the gravel bed with Dino. Even culinarily, her love for Fred was reduced to the bare minimum, so he feared for his impressive figure. The household harmony was therefore severely off-kilter, so Fred decided to win back Wilma's favor with a gift. He thought of a large, self-caught fish for an opulent reconciliation dinner. His path led him once again to the Neanderthal specialty shop "Weapons, Hunting, and More" to complete his fishing gear; he also wanted to return the Fauskeil perfume Dark, which he held partly responsible for the entire debacle.
Hi Barney, why are you just standing around here and why do you have a whip in your hand? Hey Fred, that's my fishing rod; I'm going to accompany you on your fishing trip. Good grief, Barney, I'm going for flounder and stonefish; with that line in your hand, you'll catch at most a few pebble algae or salmon lice. Look, my new rod here is just right for these stone fish. I got it from the gravel guys at the niche shop, where I also managed to exchange the cursed perfume Dark for the new perfume Light, also from Neanderthal and this time in the white Fauskeil bottle. That will be Wilma's extra apology gift, so that my dear Amber will shine for me again.
Slate, gravel, and rock, the little fish just don't want to bite today, Fred; no tugging on the lines, dead silence on the lake. Maybe we could test Wilma's perfume in the meantime; better safe than sorry after the fiasco last time. A rock-solid idea, Barney; I’ll spray it right away.
It smells really good, Fred, like freshly mowed, green, still damp grass! And a few squeezed citrus fruits are lying around too. However, the grassy, herbaceous, and fresh green quickly fades away, leaving the impression that it, lying on the lawn as grass clippings, is already starting to rot and smell. Everything green is already on the compost heap after about an hour, forming a bitter-spicy mélange with plenty of spilled flower vase water. Fish, Barney, I still smell a faint fish scent in there, but we haven't caught any yet; it must be the perfume. This brackish note settles in firmly and makes the scent a bit fresher and lighter, but not better. It stubbornly clings to everything it is sprayed on and smells dry, rotten-green, herbaceous-musty, decayed-woody, and at the end noticeably resinous with a bit of smoke, all kept quite bright and not earthy-dark like Neanderthal Dark. No aromatic hint of forgiveness, atonement, or leniency, and certainly none of the effort for a new desire or seduction. Both scents, Neanderthal Dark and Light, exude a prehistoric, archaic smell that is good for, who knows what, but certainly not to impress a woman or positively accompany an apology.
Barney, this stuff is probably not for my lovely Amber after all! This white Fauskeil is going back too, and I’ll exchange it for a pebble slingshot. Maybe that will help on a later hunt, because fishing isn't working out either. We're going home now, picking up two large, fat Bronto burger bags from the McDriveIn on the way, and inviting our loved ones for a shared meal. Before that, since the perfume reminded me of grass, we’ll mow the lawn around the house as promised. Then reconciliation should work out just fine. Fred beamed like a honey-cake dinosaur and couldn't help but let out a quiet, eager Yabba Dabba Doo.
I’m keeping my fingers crossed for Fred's success, and I thank you all for joining me!