I got a scented advertisement in the paper the other day for Giorgio Armani's new cologne for men, black code. Ooooh. Good. Really good. Make my knees buckle good. I suppose I should toss out a disclaimer: the fragrance may come across differently on actual human flesh than on a glossy advert, but it smells promising.
A man with a light touch of cologne is sexy. A little, mind you. Nothing worse than some Valentino you can detect before he crosses the room. And not all colognes are good. I have been accosted at the mall by bottle-wielding Stepford wannabes who want me to sniff potions that should only be sold in the varnish aisle at the hardware store.
But a good-smelling man...that is sexy. I've been a fan of mens' frangrance since high school, when every boy I knew wore Polo. The scent of puppy love and first crushes. In college I went through a Drakkar Noir phase. My friend George wore it. He wasn't a romantic interest, but I liked sitting next to him in our history class and sniffing away. Sometimes, during a dull lecture, I'd close my eyes and pretend George was my handsome theology professor. (Who was a Jesuit. I know, I know. Straight. To. Hell.)
Unfortunately for me, The VP isn't a big fan of the eau de toilette. I have to content myself with sneaking discreet whiffs of the guy in front of me at the grocery store or the man I elbowed aside to get a spot at the bar. My latest source of nose candy: the guys I play soccer with on Monday nights. Quite a few of them must wear cologne to work and it still lingers by the time they get to the field. After the game...I keep my distance, but warm-ups are always fun.
Now, since there is no school today for The Senator, I'm dragging the boys off to the mall where we will indulge and buy The VP 1.0 fluid ounces of this latest aphrodisiac. I'm going to spritz him the minute he walks in the door.
It is a distinct possibility that all posting will cease after 5 p.m.