The Three Aisles In The Huckleberry Section At The Super One Foods
I used to see a girl who had a smell that was hard to place. I used to joke with her that one day I'd figure it out, but, in the meantime, I was perfectly content with the mystery. All I knew was it was beautiful, the smell, she was too, but it hurts to think about that now. Forlorn, I was moping all over town, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
There are three aisles in the Huckleberry section at the Super One Foods that I know she loves. The Huckleberry is a portion of the store offering natural selections and products with whole ingredients (whatever that means). It's for the hippies and those with their fingers in a perpetual peace sign. On one of my days spent moping, I found myself walking up and down those aisles, aimless, playing my heart so damn fast and loose. Suppose I had seen her, what would I do? What was I hoping for? Perhaps she sees me, has a change of heart, and runs to me with a jar of Kimchi in her hand?
We both know that'd never happen; if a woman wants something, she doesn't go to the store looking for it. Women can play it defensively where they know a man needs only a reason to talk to them, and they won't stop talking. We'll talk them all the way to the bedroom. The long and short of it is that if she wanted me, she would; I'm easy like that.
Looking for her and perusing teas (I like peppermint), I breathed in through my olfactory and whiffed the smell of her. Oh, that smell that I loved to smell, that great and glorious stench that poured from the pores of her neck and shoulders, from her armpits and clavicle. I thought I had manifested serendipity like the universe was silly putty in the palm of my hand. I looked up, prepared to dance with fate in the Huckleberry section. I searched the aisles, looking through the bag of chips and brownie mix, but there was no trail of sand her golden locks would leave behind, and there was no laughter or glint off the eyes of ocean girl anywhere to be found. All that accompanied me was the smell. All that stood near me was the familiar stench that used to envelope me. Smacked with the memory of burying my face in her and breathing in deep like I was trying to inhale her soul. I realized then that the smell was from something in these three aisles.
Imagine me a truffle pig searching with my nose to find whatever gave her the aromatic quality of angels. I failed to locate it, at least in the store. I figured I looked as weird as I did and decided to leave, but not before enacting my policy concerning the three aisles in the Huckleberry section at the Super One Foods.
My policy? My policy is that I do not pay for anything capable of fitting into my pocket. I decided to steal a bar of lotion soap. It costs 15 bucks and is a superb bar. It's a somewhat random choice, but I hate to leave empty-handed, even if it leaves them red.
I had arrived home and forgot about the theft entirely until I went to shower later that night. I opened the package, and the soap was inside of a protective tin (nice touch). I splashed water on the bar and then onto myself, and my olfactory was again invaded. This was the thing that left her smelling so pleasant. The thing that left her skin soft like mohair and smooth like vinyl. The one thing I took from the three aisles in the Huckleberry section at Super One Foods was the one thing that left her smelling the way she did, and I found it. The smell is in my nostrils all night long, and I hate it. I hate her (not really). I hate my reaction to her. I really should be better at controlling myself concerning matters of the heart. Anyway, I think I'll keep using the soap. Sure, I smell like my ex-girlfriend, and I'm sad again, but there's no point in throwing it out.
The point of all of this is that you have to be somewhat protective over your heart. Do not go looking for things that you do not have a plan for once you find them. Protect yourself, if not you, then who? Certainly not ocean girl, nor the checkout guy with suspicious eyes, and definitely not the person who sells me my Top tobacco. Give yourself a fighting chance; be guarded enough that you don't allow yourself to scour a town looking for someone who wants nothing to do with you but also not so guarded that you miss out on nice smells and smooth skin. The proverbial sweet spot that's where you want to be.
Cover Art: The Magic Circle - Waterhouse
