arcēology

Kyle and I were walking around Times Square before dinner on Thursday when I smelled “it.” “It” is my favorite scent of all-time, the scent of a body wash I found at a Marks & Spencer several years ago when I was in Belfast. The Northern Ireland trip took a downturn when “It” spilled and went down the shower drain. Now, years later, I’m still on a search to replicate the scent. (If only I had journaled about the body wash, I’d know pertinent details like something other than “it was in a white bottle.”) Sometimes I’ll get whiffs of It. I think Victoria’s Secret “Dream Angels Heavenly” sometimes smells similar to it, but it’s not It.

But, I smelled It in New York! Since we had a few minutes to spare before dinner, Kyle declared that we spend those few minutes tracking down the smell. We’d catch a bit of it here, a bit of it there, until finally we determined the source.

You can imagine my dismay when we realized that my many years of searching ended with three old men. My aroma of all aromas was also the perfume du jour of 75-year-old men. But I was undeterred. I would smell like an old man, so be it.

I walked up to them and asked if one of them might be wearing cologne. You can once again imagine my dismay when they turned to me and kindly said that they don’t speak English. They were Spaniards. I pretended to spritz myself and asked about “aroma” in my best European accent. Surprisingly, neither of those things helped.

So, if you see me at the men’s fragrance counter, you’ll know not to ask me any questions. Elderly Man, one day I will proudly smell like you.