Happy Halloween, everybody!
I’ve had a busy morning photographing Roxy in her costumes.
And there’s no way I could keep all this cuteness to myself.
I was standing by the mango bin when it hit me.
The intoxicating scent tickled my nose in the most delightful way.
It was woodsy, yet citrusy, and left notes of sandalwood.
Like a bloodhound on the trail, I allowed my nose to lead the way; to find the source of such a heavenly scent.
I inched my way to the man standing next to me and brought my head as close as I dared to his right shoulder.
This action made him jerk back suddenly and prompted me, to make a mad dash before he was able to get a look at my face.
Pushing my shopping cart like a schizophrenic off her meds, I swerved left and right, stopping to sniff in every aisle.
When I reached the dairy section, I saw two women spying me, but I swiftly passed them, not wanting their horrified looks to deter me from my mission.
Onward I marched, my anxiety increasing at the realization that the scent was becoming fainter.
However, something told me I had to stop, compose myself, and survey my surroundings.
After all, there was no way I was going to identify my source if I carried on in this discombobulated manner.
I spotted two men standing in the deli section.
Yet my attempt to sniff their necks was interrupted by a deli employee who was hell-bent on slicing salami.
Frustrated, I realized that, thanks to the salami interruption, there was no way I could pick up the scent again.
Defeated, I steered my empty cart to the next aisle.
One step, two steps, three steps, and bam!
There it was again.
Like a crazy person, I broke into a half trot, pushing my shopping cart like a “you have one minute to shop” reality tv contestant.
However, I came to a screeching halt when I realized I had found the source.
There, standing in front of the toilet paper section, was the man responsible for my deranged state.
I slid closer; all the while taking deep inhalations.
Yet I realized I had to be cautious.
Any sudden movement might cause him to bolt; taking with him the scent that was driving me wild.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
He was tall, nicely dressed, and average looking.
He was definitely nothing to write home about, yet I had a difficult time suppressing the urge to smash my nose against his neck to inhale his scintillating aroma.
I slowly stepped closer and picked up a pack of toilet paper.
I cursed the fact that it had been here, surrounded by the very paper we use to wipe our asses, that I had finally found him.
He looked my way, lifted an eyebrow, and gave me a half smile; not an open mouth, toothy smile, but one where only one corner of his mouth turned upward.
It was the kind of smile that said, “Is anything wrong?”
I smiled back.
He returned his attention to the toilet paper.
The delicious smelling man seemed to be a neurotic who read the small print on the back of the Charmin.
But what did I care as long as I was able to continue smelling, inhaling, and sniffing his scent?
I wondered if what smelled so good wasn’t his cologne but instead, his pheromones.
Could it be that he was emanating pheromones that my pheromones couldn’t resist?
And if this was the case, what could I possibly do about it?
I was certain the Significant Other did not have whatever pheromones this man had, and I was damned if I was leaving the supermarket without committing his scent to memory.
I inched closer, unaware that in the process the shopping cart had taken on a life of its own.
One minute I was centimeters away from his neck and the next, the out of control cart had backed up, knocking over a cardboard display of Bob the Builder in the process.
To make things worse, Bob the Builder had landed on one of the dairy section women who had stared at me earlier.
A loud shriek interrupted my trance-like state, prompting the delicious smelling man to rush to the woman’s assistance.
At this point, I realized it was time to hit the road before security was alerted.
I could almost hear a voice cackling over the intercom, “We have a Bob the Builder spill on aisle four. Security, we have a 10-5 in that same location. Proceed with caution.”
Indeed, it was definitely time to exit the building.
I took one last whiff of the source’s scent, pheromones, or whatever was making him smell like a slice of heaven, and made a beeline for the exit, oblivious to the fact that I hadn’t purchased any groceries.
Because that’s what a delicious scent does to you.
It strips you of common sense, drives you to act like a crazy person, and at times, puts you at risk of being arrested.
Nevertheless, it also has the ability to make its way up your nose and into your memory bank.
Thus, allowing you to revisit any time you’re in the mood for woodsy-citrusy with a side of sandalwood.
Note: While the details in this post have been a tad embellished for your entertainment, tragically, they are inspired on actual events.
This morning, Roxy and I were completely unprepared for an encounter with this lady.
One minute she was walking next to her owner, and the next, she had tugged at her retractable leash and swooped in for the kill.
Roxy was terrified.
However, our little miss was smart and immediately went into self-preservation mode.
In the blink of an eye, she bowed down, wagged her tail, and waited.
As I witnessed the larger dog peer down at Roxy, I could hear Aretha Franklin singing, “R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me.”
In the meantime, this fellow looked down at the scene; expectantly waiting for the outcome.
The gleam in his eye told me he was curious to see how events would unfold.
As I watched the two dogs, Roxy’s attitude served to remind me that while you can be as fearless and as feisty as you want to be, there are times when the odds are stacked against you.
In other words, in order to survive, we have to pick and choose our battles.
As for the cat, he served to remind me that no matter what we decide, there will always be an eyewitness to account for what went down.
Today I’m linking up with Heidi’s Black and White Wednesday.
When I first heard the song, “No More Drama,” by Mary J. Blige, I rejoiced.
I thought that finally, all those beseeched by drama had a spokesperson; a union rep who would manifest drama sufferers’ discomfort.
Listening to Mary’s song, I heaved a sigh of relief; grateful I no longer belonged to the drama club.
I had been lucky. I had escaped; broken free from its toxic hold.
One fine day, empowered with the knowledge that I had enough drama in my own life, I had pulled a “Roberto Duran.”
I had exclaimed, “No mas.” No more.
However, those who are still in drama’s chokehold, know that breaking free is no easy feat.
It takes great fortitude, strength, and the ability to distance ourselves from the toxic folk.
Fortunately, my girl Mary woke up to the reality of negativity.
She realized how toxicity, much like a parasite, worms its way into our lives and destroys our peace of mind.
Toxicity: A quality possessed by those known as the toxic folk.
You know who they are.
They’re the constant bearer of bad news; the ones who bring you down.
The gossips, the complainers, the whiners.
They’re the ones who cry poor; the ones who dish dirt out on others, and have a perpetual monkey on their backs.
They’re full of themselves, their stress, and their bad luck.
Life doesn’t cut them slack. God is not on their side. Evil is out to get them.
They’re hexed, cursed, doomed. They hate their lives, their families, their spouses. They can’t catch a break.
Or so they tell you, over, and over, and over.
Like thirsty sponges, they absorb all of your energy.
A conversation with them leaves you feeling spent, exhausted, in need of a nap.
Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years.
They never change. They’re always the same.
Down on life. Down on their luck. Down on everybody.
They steal your mojo. Suck you dry, and without a shred of thanks, exit your life, only to come back sooner than you expect, ready to grab double helpings of your good chi.
So what do you do?
The only thing you can do: you cut them loose.
It’s the only way.
The toxic folks don’t know the meaning of middle ground; they’re all or nothing.
Cut them loose.
It’s the wise thing to do; the only thing to do if you want to stop them from getting the best of you.
So if you’re feeling like you’re being consumed by the problems of others, like your life is on hold, like you’re sick and tired of being sick and tired, you may be a victim of drama.
It’s not too late.
You too can break free.
All it takes is the ability to say, “No more drama.” No mas. No more.
In refusing to engage in the drama of others, you’ll be free to live your life; experience life one day at a time. Your way. And in peace.