The Crescat
… Brace yourself. I’m about to get all surly. If there’s anything I can do well, it’s being surly. And nothing, I mean nothing, gets me surlier than those daily reminders of my spinsterhood from Catholic Match that arrive in my email’s inbox on an almost daily basis. Never mind that you can’t unsubscribe and deleting your account doesn’t work either and I refuse to change my email address… they own you forever once you join.
Needless to say my foul mood was already brewing when I walked to the post office and found the line out the door. But wait, what’s this? That intoxicating smell. I had the wonderful pleasure of standing behind a man that smelled like cigars and aftershave. I leaned in close and in a totally super creepy way inhaled deeply. My foul mood was instantly vanquished as my olfactory senses swam in the scent of manliness and smoke.
Two thoughts quickly followed … 1) I sorely miss men and 2) why, oh why, can’t smoking be good for you?!
In case you can’t tell, I used to smoke. Sometimes the old urges come back when I’m out enjoying a few adult libations with friends or I’m having a particularly hellish day, or like today, I catch a delicious whiff rising off the wind.
My Lord, that man smelled heavenly. He smelled like a Man. Which instantly made me miss Men. Real Men, like my grandfather who smoked Swisher Sweets and drank Scotch. Ah, Men. Remember those?
Now they all smell like revolting Axe Body Spray, have over groomed eyebrows, and dress like they’re stuck in perpetual adolescence. God, I miss men.
I blame modern feminisism for killing manhood, but that’s a whole other screed.
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