A Scentsual Woman
Blog Post
My lovelies . . .
We must dispel a long-standing myth about tulips. There are some people who believe they aren’t fragrant. Isn’t that bananas? But we scentsual women know the truth.
Tulips are beguiling. They draw us in with their color, almost tricking us into thinking they won’t overwhelm our noses. But once we lean in and inhale them, we know the truth. They are fragrant in their own way. The tulip wants you to get a little closer, to understand its soft honey notes, to uncover a hint of apricot. It’s sweeter, softer, more floral, but with a touch of sex appeal.
That’s the tulip for you. Don’t let its pinwheel of colors seduce you into thinking it’s a one-trick flower. It has so much more to it.
This morning, I snipped some from my garden, brought them into my sun-drenched kitchen, and filled a pewter pitcher with water. I set the tulips in it and thought of why I sought them out today in the first place.
That brought a warmth to my heart.
By the way, it’s so nice to see you again. I’ve missed you all. I hope some of you can see me waving to you.
Yours in noses,
A Scentsual Woman
27CHRISTIAN
In the morning, I find her in the kitchen, wearing a camisole and knickers. She’s putting a plate of breakfast food together. There are no eggs in sight. “It looks great. Even without eggs.”
“Oh, are you an eggs-or-bust person?”
“Eggs are everything.”
She gestures to her purse, perched on her kitchen chair. “There’s a market around the corner. Let me go get you some.”
I step to her, cup her cheeks, and kiss her forehead. “No.”
“But I don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind going without. It’s just eggs.”
“It’s only around the corner.”
And I fall a little deeper because she wants to make me eggs. I’m so fucked. But if I let her get the eggs, I’ll be fucked royally. Yep, I have to chicken scratch a line in the sand. My new border comes from chickens. “Fruit and bread is perfect,” I tell her.
Over blueberries, a baguette, and a steaming cup of coffee, she takes out her iPad, a sheepish grin on her face. She taps on the screen then slides it over to me.
I read, and with each line about tulips, my grin grows. When I finish, I glance at the orange flowers on the table. “Happy?”
She nods, and there’s almost a childlike glee in her smile. I did this for her. I brought this feeling to her. “Very much so.”
After we eat, I help her clean up, then I nod to the door. “I should go.”
I don’t want to go. But I have to.
“Do you have to?”
My heart lurches toward her. I half wish she’d make this easier. The expiration date is so fucking far away, and I’m going to have to lie to her about how I feel for more than two months. “Don’t you need to bury yourself in work today?”
She shakes her head. “No. Do you want to bury yourself in me today instead?”
Like I’m resisting that.
I throw in the towel, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her up the stairs, two steps at a time.
Later that week, I meet her after work at a brasserie. We grab a table on the pavement, under the awning.
“Does this mean we’re on a new schedule? Since it’s not Friday or Saturday night?” I take a drink of my beer as a ragtag group of street violinists on the corner serenades us.
“Hmm. It seems we have graduated to a more multi-tiered arrangement.”
“I knew I could wear you down.”
Laughing, she raises her wineglass, and gives me flirty eyes over the rim. “Was that your plan when you flashed me your parts way back when?”
“Absolutely. I’ve been waging a war of attrition ever since you got the Christian Ellison full monty treatment.”
She takes a drink of her wine. She hums as she sets it down, looking away, seemingly lost in thought. “Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if I’d found my way to The Jane?”
I take a swallow as I contemplate. “I’ve thought about that scenario many times. And I know the answer.”
