It's not like I'm picky about what I smell like. Wait, that's not all true. I kinda am particular. See, I like to smell like food. Vanilla, specifically. When I left for college, I outgrew "Poison" and "Eternity." Since then, I've picked vanilla-scented fragrances. (It that a redundant phrase?) Mostly, they come from Bath and Body Works because they have good stuff and some crazy awesome sales. But they also have a habit of stopping production of my favorites. Just when I found the perfect scent for me -- Vanilla Noir -- they go and cancel it. Good thing I had stocked up at their last sale but now I am in a bind.
I peruse their remaining scents. Orange Sapphire was intriguing but not me; it smelled too much like orange punch that got spiked. Sensual Amber made me gag (and snicker because I have friends named Amber, not all of whom are sensual). And Cumber Melon is just gross, gross, gross. The sales-cutie tries to assist me but I am pretty much just throwing a tantrum over losing my regular perfume. No, I didn't want Warm Vanilla Sugar. I wanted Vanilla Noir, dang it!
I leave the store and comfort myself with some chocolate-covered marzipan (now, there's a scent idea!) while pouting. Why did I like the vanilla scent so much anyway? It's like I was emotionally attached to a bottle of stink. Kinda ridiculous.
My affair with the vanilla scents started when dating got serious. I was no longer looking for a potential make-out session but marriage material. So why did I want to constantly smell like food? Was I trying to get to a man's heart through his stomach, by way of his nostrils? Was I trying to make spending time with me as enjoyable as eating a cinnamon roll? Maybe was it a promise of what our life would be like together: I might not be perfect but I can bake you into bliss.
I've found the man (and fattened him to ecstasy), so why the vanilla? Even now, I've been known to dab a little almond extract behind my ears. Hey, I decorate cakes sometimes. I use that all the time so it's handy, more so than that stuff clear up all those stairs in my room. I guess, now you could say that instead of enticing a man, I'm looking for potential customers.
It's like the cliche: "You can't trust a skinny cook." You can't choose a cake decorator who doesn't smell like baked goods. I've just adjusted my flirting to advertising.