Passing the Sniff Test

The Scent of a Man

The nose knows

There’s something to be said about experiments that have proven “chemistry” is a real thing.

Women can actually pick up on subtle pheromones attracting them to mates whose genes differ in a key area, which would give their children stronger immune systems.

Something like this happened to me. With a twist.

Years ago, at my receptionist job, I was sick of getting treated worse than a bog cleaner. I decided to take computer courses at night to advance my career.

At my first class, I was enamoured with a Clark Kent-like instructor. Paul was smart and extremely patient, considering I’d never even turned on a computer. I told him I had a classmate in high school with the same unusual last name as his. “Heh. That’s my brother — I went to another school!” We both chuckled at the coincidence.

I had been experiencing a huge dating drought.

The fact that his brother had also been very helpful and kind to me in geography class, made me feel like I already knew how his family operated. Not to mention tickled my loins with the possibility of love on the horizon.

No — not a threesome you gutter brains!

But first I took my time to get to know Paul. We’d chat a little during class. Then we’d flirt on the bus we both took home. Er… I should have said his Ferrari. Yeah — that’s it.

I finished my courses and began my extra curricular pursuit of Paul. We went on dates and discovered our many common interests. Cue sappy Hallmark made-for-TV movie montage.

We eventually kissed goodnight, and I made it clear that I really needed to know someone before I got to know them in the biblical way. No judgment. I’m just like that for some reason. The fact he was once again patient, made me like him even more.

I finally asked him up to my apartment a couple months later. “But it may just be for coffee.” I warned him. “I like to take things slow.”

“No duh!” He smirked. And so, we started with coffee which turned into some kissing and hugging. And then it happened.

I noticed Paul had strong B.O.

It was pungent, as if Pepé Le Pew farted while eating durian fruit in a musty attic.

Talk about a mood killer! Why did I pick the night he didn’t shower and/or do his laundry to invite him up to my place at long last?

Instead of confronting him — because what would I say really? “You smell!” I opted to tell him, “I’m not ready yet.”

“No worries.” He said as he grabbed his coat and kissed me goodnight.

After he left, I asked myself, why didn’t I just suggest a steamy shower to clean up and mess around at the same time? But something inside me just decided to not go through with it that night.

So off to bed by myself as usual I went. Only to be rudely awaken a few hours later — 5:00 am on a Sunday morning! “I’m looking for my husband.” Said a distressed woman. “Wrong number!” I yelled as I was returning the annoying alarm clock from hell phone to its cradle.

But then I heard, “My husband, Paul.”

I quickly retrieved the handset and sprang upright, banging my head on the headboard.

“Did you say Paul?” I inquired.

“Yes, I did.” The voice answered.

“Who’s this?” Clearly, my logic wasn’t working when I asked the stupid question.

“His wife.”

“WWWWWiiiiiiiifffffffe?” I bellowed.

I didn’t know about a WIFE!

“Well, if you see Paul, tell him I’m looking for him.” Said his WIFE.

WTF just happened??????

I immediately called Paul on his flip phone. It went straight to voicemail.

I tried again. Voicemail again. I left him one, calmly stating just to call me immediately please.

A few hours went by. Crickets.

I left him another voicemail. Not so calm this time.

Finally, it was 11:00 am and since he hadn’t returned my calls, I called the computer school.

Someone went and got him for me.

“Are you okay?!?!” I asked, relieved he wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere. Yet wanting to put him in one at the same time.

“Yes.” He whispered.

“I need to speak with you!!!!”

I tried that fake smiling technique they tell telemarketers to use so they sound friendlier on the phone. I desperately needed answers.

“I’ll be in class until 3:00 pm. I’ll call you then.”

I had to wait. Patiently. And then at 3:11 he called.

I hit him with a barrage of questions like the press trying to get Chris Rock’s reaction to the slap heard around the world.

“I’m doing her a favour.” He assured me. “She needed to flee her country. I married her so she could stay. We’re not an actual couple.”

It sounded so noble — except things didn’t add up.

1. Why was she so desperately searching for him then?

2. Why did she insist on calling him her husband?

And most importantly…

3. If he wasn’t with her. And he wasn’t with me. Where the hell was he most of the night?

I told him to be fruitful and multiply with her or anyone else of his choosing.

And I thanked my heaven-“scent” sixth sense, which didn’t let me really know this terrible STINKER!

Thank you to brilliant https://medium.com/doctor-funny editor Michael (I’m just the Pips, Shirley. You’re Gladys Knight.)

Thank you for reading my story.

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