Olfactory Narcissism

bath and body works is what i refer to as "that smell store." true, there's the body shop, which i refer to as "that other smell store," only because i don't frequent it as often as bath and body works. this has little to do with the quality of either company's products, but rather relates directly to the fact that the body shop is always burning ridiculously extravagant amounts of aromatherapy oil in about 12 square feet of space. i imagine it smells like royal medieval paris, when people soaked themselves in herbage to disguise their own rank body odor.

at any rate, that smell store is the one which USED to sell a bergamot coriander series of products---massage oil, body washes, scrubs, etc. you know, the same aromatherapy line as the eucalyptus mint and lemongrass ginger and various other "fragrances" which remind me more of dessert or curry than cleaning putrid human bodies. not to say i don't like them, but at times i am tempted to eat a limb or at least a digit to see if i taste as good as the bottle smells. luckily i'm able to control this urge.

bergamot coriander is different. i don't understand why it's discontinued anymore than most people can understand my fascination with it. i first discovered it, in massage oil form, at a semi annual sale a year or two ago and fell deeply in love at first whiff. i scrabbled around the bins looking for any other products (let's face it; i don't get massaged with oil every day, or even every other day, or even with any frequency worth mentioning) but alas and alack! there were none to be found. to compound my feelings of woe, a very nice sales lady said, "oh, i think that's the last of it----it's discontinued."

oh the horror! if i were a soprano, i would shriek obscenely high notes at this very nice sales lady whilst collapsing on the spot, overcome by weakness from this dire news. if i were a tenor, i would croon a silky, yet sweet aria at her until she relented and gave up her secret bergamot coriander stash (i was sure she had one). if i were a hearty, stoic mezzo i might poke her with an epee just because i enjoyed vengeance. if i were a bass....well, i can't even begin to think like a bass. do basses think?

regardless, as a keyboardist my overflow of despair and heart-wrenching angst was manifested by lots of impotent fist-clenching. i brought home the lone bottle of massage oil and ruefully hoarded it, occasionally bringing it out for a quick sniff or two---just to tide me over. harmless fix, really. just a little bit more!!! but then...

my dearest friend (even more dear to me now) was at that smell store last week, as they are having their semi annual sale, and brought home three bottles of bergamot coriander BODY WASH! i was singing more alleluias than a catholic at easter! and tonight i bathed in it for the first time...oh what a combination of fresh acidity and musky sensuality! oh what an oasis of luxury for a nose parched in a desert of sewage! (cleveland's fault, not mine). if i were a soprano, i would shriek obscenely high notes of pleasure whilst collapsing on the spot, overcome by sheer hedonistic happiness. it's funny; it doesn't matter what they feel, they always do the same thing.

for the last half hour i have been rolling around in bed, trying to sniff random body parts (the back of my knee, the small of my back) and i'm always struck with amazement that THAT PLACE SMELLS GOOD TOO. i am in love with my smell. i can't get enough of me. i can see it now: i tuck myself into a fetal position as i inhale my gorgeous scent, and i never resurface for bland air. over time my hair and nails grow long and the gods pity me, turning me into a brown bush with black trim that smells fantastic! and a museum will buy me for my oddly human features and of course, my scent, and i will be known as The Jo. and hundreds of years later, whenever a human tucks into a fetal position, they will be doing The Jo. or if someone finds a brown bush with black trim, fragrant or not, it will be called The Jo. and then eventually a person with a smell fetish will be called a Joist, and everyone will want to plant Jo hedges and hold Jo-growing contests, or Jo-cultivation conferences, and my name will live on through all eternity, all owing to one fortuitous semi annual sale.