No Gifts Please

He said not to bother about his birthday.

Still I think he was pleased with this morning's effort: rolled apple muffins, scrambled eggs, milk, coffee, candles on a carrot cake and the Happy Birthday song, a "Do whatever floats your boat" card and a spritzer of cologne to replace his old bottle that reminded me of my Granny T's scent.

(Did Grandpa wear Chaps and leave behind a bottle that she'd dab on in a reminiscent mood?)



When Dan asked, I assured him this new cologne was different. I lifted the back of my hand for him to catch the slightest fragrance from yesterday's test. He waved away my hand grumbling something about how he hoped the fragrance wasn't still noticeable.

I ignored his resistance: "Of course, it will smell different with your own body chemistry. That's why the person who's wearing the cologne should be the one to test it out."

"I just don't want to smell like your grandmother," he said still refusing to concede my point in his stubborn Norwegian way. I said, "Well, it was either this or Soul2Soul. I didn't think you'd appreciate something from Tim McGraw and Faith Hill."

When he (rock-and-)rolled his eyes at the country singers' names, I knew I'd at least gotten something right. For fun, I added, "I could have chosen Calvin Klein's Obsession - for $50 a bottle."

"I don't need something so expensive," he said, "Just something - "

However he finished that sentence didn't matter, because it all came back to my original point: He should pick out his own cologne. Or, better yet, we should work on it together to fulfill his requirement:
"I want something that YOU like."

After struggling to open his gift's plastic packaging, he sprayed a mist on his forearm, took a whiff and offered me a turn.

"It smells like -" he began and I finished, "deodorant."

He grimaced, then said, "Well, I guess that's what I was looking for - something to cover the odor."

He showered, dressed, donned his new spectacles and was on his way out the door. "Oh, I forgot my new spray," he said, darting back to the bathroom.


"Hold the bottle high up in the air, spray a mist, and then step under it," I advised him of my method for avoiding fragrance overkill. By that time, he'd already sprayed his hand and was rubbing it onto his neck.

It made me think: Maybe next time, I should look for aftershave? Aqua Velvet. Then, he'd at least smell like my dad.

As he hopped in the car and drove away, I lifted the back of my hand to my nose and drew in the day-old fragrance of Nautica: Bergamot orange, clary sage and fresh lemon, spicy black pepper and sensual sandalwood. The product's advertising boasts a scent that is revitalizing and seductive. Launched in 1992. The year we were married. Now I imagine the ocean depths and coastal winds of my husband's heritage.

Tonight— after his work day, a Lenten meal and worship service singing, plus two different choir practices—I'll try again, more subtly. Fragrance and body chemistry. I like it. Maybe he will too.