Tuesday, February 07, 2006
The other day, one of the guys here at work told me, “You smell good.” Ordinarily, that’s a nice thing to hear but it can also be the catalyst for a freak out.
Many summers ago, I was at the Gulf Coast Market at Crystal Beach with my sisters and sister-in-law buying groceries for our weekend stay at a rented beach cabin. As I was unloading my Zima (it was that long ago) and munchies and lunchmeat onto the checkout conveyor belt, someone came up behind me and whispered in my ear, “Yew schmell goooooood.”
I turned around expecting to see someone I knew and instead saw a guy with sporadically spaced teeth and skin the color and texture of a dried up creek bed. Unlike me, he didn’t smell good. In fact, he smelled just like Crystal Beach on a really hot day after the tide’s been out a while and the dead fish and seaweed are really starting to funk up the place.
I looked into his eyes which were somehow simultaneously red and yellow and said, “Thanks.”
My sisters and sister-in-law had already checked out and were on their way to the car so they didn’t know what had happened. After I finished checking out my items, I hurriedly left the store and caught up with them in the parking lot and whispered, “Hurry, hurry, hurry. Walk, walk, walk. Faster, faster, faster….”
They turned and said, “What?”
I said, “Just get in the car. We’ve been in town twenty minutes and I’ve already begun my usual collection of scary weird ass men.”
Thankfully, I didn’t encounter that guy again that weekend. However, we still recite his sadly inept pick-up line in the same slow, scary, stalkerish Texas drawl whenever we happen upon someone who schmells exceptionally goooooooooooood. Oddly enough, it isn’t working for us either...and we still have most of our teeth.