I was somewhere between slathering my toast with marmalade and turning the page of the latest Vanity Fair when I stopped: I lowered my toast to the plate and reached for the page pulsing with the latest ‘come-hither’ perfume — it was something to do with ‘haute cuisine’ and I just had to open the little scratch-n-sniff flap to experience it.
The big problem with doing something like that when you haven’t wiped your lips after eating marmalade was — you guessed it — QuickStick to the magazine page as I was trying to scratch a small patch to open the aroma.
My wife walked into the room and there she saw me with the Vanity Fair hanging from my lips and my eyes peering at her from over the top of the magazine.
I don’t remember what she said at that moment, but I mumbled something about “Great marmalade and how would you like some new perfume?”
She immediately set me straight, gently removing the page from my lips and whispering in that Lauren Bacall voice of hers: Smells that guys like start with Bubbletini.
I knew she was telling me something, and I best listen up about this body and bath moisturizing concoction.
“Violets and jasmine. Twists of scents that can send you to heaven, entwined forever in a wafting….”
Well, she went on for some time and finally I said, “But I thought you like the Haute Cuisine? It’s probably the most expensive perfume out there and your birthday is coming up—”
“Listen to my heart,” she said as she pulled me closer to her. “It is beating softly for you and will always be yours if you’ll…”
I tried to look up at her, but again, I was imprisoned with marmalade that had attached itself to my face and now to her blouse. Still, I was earnest when I said:
“Bubbletini.” I said. And I reached under the table and brought out the gift box I was going to surprise her with. “It’s an early present, only because you deserve an early ‘I love you.’” She deserves it, and then some. Hon, time for you to enjoy the shower gel uses.
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