Long ago, in a faraway town, on Monday nights, Best Friend played in a dart tournament. I went along to do something different, to people-watch, and to work on my latest book. For 3 hours in this smoky, noisy, bar, with predictable patrons and stereotypical bartenders, he hit the bull’s eye, and I observed the people coming and going.
For several of those Monday nights, a couple caught my eye – or, rather, they caught my nose. Their appearance and dress were non-descript. They didn’t make a huge entrance. They just walked in together, hand-in-hand. And they always made a beeline to the bar.
What caught my nose was the potent powdery, flowery, piquant cologne she wore. In an instant, as they passed through the door where I sat in the darkness with my laptop, the aroma almost instantly dispelled the tobacco odor, and the enormous floor fan that stood behind me helped to distribute the perfume aroma around the immediate area.
Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but giggle to myself – the man must have been nose blind to the stench she let envelope her. It’s almost as if he brought her along as his own personal, portable potpourri or walking sachet.
Yet, as much as her perfume stunk, I still appreciated the momentary reprieve from the bar’s tobacco reek.
©2022 Colcannon Metropolis, “Aren’t They Just!” and “Life is Funny”