Scent of a Man

I am deeply affected by smells. I’m an olfactory ninja, a compulsive bloodhound of sorts. Once I stopped smoking cigarettes this strenth has only increased and I am frequently led in and out of places by my nose. If the odors of certain places don’t agree with me, then I cannot stay. Public buses, elevators and free clinics are places where I only last a few minutes or so. On the other hand, if I come across place that exudes a heavenly fragrance or a delicious aroma, then I am drawn by my mouth and nostrils to explore such a curious place.

If I find an article of clothing laying around, I don’t care where I am, (restaurant, cafe, gym, bus stop) I will have the urge to sniff it.  I’m sure there are support groups and whole websites dedicated to this terrible perversion, but I like to think of it more of a slight super-power than an affliction. What if said article of clothing is a clue to a missing person? What if a scarf or shirt were the last thing standing between time and a murder? I could be a key witness, since smells are the most powerful of all senses when it comes to recollection. I know that makes no sense, just play along.

If my woman cheats on me, I will undoubtedly smell what kind of man he is. If he’s a tool-box, beercan, NASCAR kinda guy, or a waxed, cologned, refined man, or maybe a mix of both if I smell wood shavings and Drakkar Noir. Except that particular guy would probably be weilding a sweet mullet and handlebar mustache rocking the acid wash jeans with a fringed leather jacket.

Whatever the case, I would be able to sense the odor of a man just like a fresh baked pie or a woman my girlfriend would assault. Though I would appreciate it if he used a papaya scrub and drank merlot since those smell nicer than Lava and Budweiser. In contrast, I would be puzzled yet deeply intrigued if I sniffed out strange Clairol and Clinique.


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