Scent of a Man

Of the five God-given senses, the sense of smell tends to be forgotten easily enough, often treated as the neglected stepsister below stairs in comparison to the more significant brethren such as sight and sound. Well, at least till something particularly noxious comes along the road to remind us that this particular sense isn't to be easily trifled with.

Since the sense of smell can be powerful. Just the scent of the familiar can trigger a forgotten memory, bringing to life a dozen fond vignettes from halcyon days. The husky tones of a lover's cologne. The homey aroma of freshly baked bread. The crisp tang of the salty sea breeze.

However I've never particularly cottoned to the smell of a new car.

Which is why I sought to get rid of it as soon as possible. I know there are famed connoisseurs who adore the whiff of a new car out there - but sadly I place them firmly in the same category as those freaks who go around sniffing glue for that olfactory high.

Searching for an air freshener was no easy task. I found myself presented with a mind-boggling array of scents from exotic perfume such as Sunset Dusk ( what kinda smell is that?! ) to the more innocuous sounding ones such as Ocean Breeze. I knew better than to fall heedlessly for the more powerful Patchouli Madness of course.


The Scent of a Man...
Unfortunate there was no Eau de Homme to spice up my car. Though I would love to have my car smell of hot, spicy male sweat bottled up with throbbing testosterone.

Ever the sedate traditionalist though, I settled on a Vanilla Bouquet. After all, it's understated. It's practical. It's classic. And it was a steal at below ten bucks.

Hoping for only a hint of vanilla in the air, I turned the freshener down several notches. Never expecting to be literally shoved head-first into an olfactory miasma. It took only moments after opening the pandora's box before I found myself practically drowning in an overpowering potpourri redolent of vanilla and wisteria. Any passersby through the parking lot with their sense of smell intact would have been forgiven if they'd imagined that a faded, aristocratic Southern belle had been strolling by with her lacy parasol while sipping mint juleps.

Oh, Rhett, it's so very, very hawt in here.

I might as well have dressed up the car in ribbons, bows and taffeta.

So if you happen to pass by a man speeding in a car, and suddenly - inexplicably - get hit with romanticized sepia-toned images of the antebellum South, be sure to wave hello. Or at least hum a few bars from Dixie.