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, with 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.
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 inhaling deeply.
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.
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 asked, “Is anything wrong?”
I smiled back.
He returned his attention to the toilet paper.
The delicious smelling man seemed to be a neurotic who liked to 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 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 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.