Cologne

I have mixed feelings about cologne. Really, I hate it. But there have been people in my life, people I have cared about, who have worn it and worn it aggressively.

My step-dad used to get himself ready in the morning in a tiny 5 X 10 bathroom with the cologne and the hairspray. From the kitchen I could hear the sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss of the aquanet can. I could make myself a bowl of grapenuts, sit down, eat it, rinse the bowl and the spoon and it would still be going. Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Bub, enough with the spray! I’m trying to digest, I’d say.

Up yours, he’d yell back.

Then he’d start with the cologne. I don’t know if he lost his sense of smell in the war or if his 3 pack a day habit burned it all out, but he could go through a bottle a week. There was no dab or light spritz (or whatever the manly version of those words is). He’d pour a good cup into his one hand and then splash it on his neck. And then he’d do the other side. Dogs from across the street would start walking in circles with trembly legs, their mouths foaming. If he came into the kitchen and you were still eating, all your food would instantly taste like aramis. Your nose would burn. Your eyes would water. The corners of your mouth would turn down.

What’s with you, crab? Bub would say pouring himself a cuppa from the machine next to the sink.

I’m feeling light headed.

Christ, he’d say, what’s new? He’d stand by the open door and light a cig. All the smoke would billow back into the kitchen.

BUB! I’d yell.

WHAT? He’d yell back.

The guy wasn't stupid. He knew what he was doing. He liked cologne. He didn’t have a problem with it. Tough shit if it made you choke. I think he really thought that we were just making it up. That we were just yanking his chain. Maybe we were. It was one of those things that you complain about, fully knowing that nothing will ever change.

You've got to admire someone like that, someone who says this is how I am: Love it or leave it. There's something innocent and fearless about him, something joyful, not usual qualities you would associate with someone who douses themselves with a strong scent. Think about this the next time you find yourself at a mall walking behind some guy who is leaving a scented trail like a crop-duster.