It was last week that I was standing in a familiar grocery store looking for a package of Pecan Sandies when it hit me. An overwhelming odor of mold or fuel oil, but at industrial strength.
Then through my teary eyes, I saw her. As my sister would say “all dressed up as a party favor”. Apparently, she had stopped at the supermarket on her way out for the evening. She was leaving a vapor trail that was peeling the labels off the cans on the soup aisle as she passed. It was her scent that was triggering my nasal reaction. Had she bathed in it? Was she a victim of some kind of terrible accident involving a tanker truck of insect repellent?
In the name of good citizenship and public safety, I had to find out the name of this substance. She ferreted out the name of the perfume. To save myself any legal problems involving this, I’ll just call it “Rankness”. Her theory was that after the first application of “Rankness,” the odor was burned out, she must apply more. In other words, she built up a tolerance.
I wonder if her friend’s eyes burn when she applies her scent. Do the oxygen masks on airliners accidentally deploy from time to time when she is on an airplane? Do small animals run when she approaches?
I know it’s not the wearer’s fault, she doesn’t know she has a problem with perfume abuse. It isn’t gender-specific, and can just as likely be caused by an overdose of certain men’s colognes.
This has all been fun, of course, and I hope nobody takes it too seriously. My brother-in-law will be here in five minutes. If my nose is working properly, he’s coming down the off-ramp into Greene County. I have just enough time to hyperventilate.
Nancee Harrison is a past columnist for the Greene County Daily World. Visit www.blondeladywithdarkroots.com or email her at email@example.com.