And then he sniffed me.

It wasn't quite like this.

It’s true. I was sniffed. On a date. Once. We’d been canoodling, and there were some kisses to the ear. And then, as I turned away…[sniff]. “Did you just sniff me?” said I. “Yes I did,” said he. And then he smiled at me. And the tooth gap. Yes. I liked it. And I’m pretty sure I wore a dab of perfume that night, which hopefully disguised the fact that I probably wasn’t wearing deodorant. Sometimes I forget.

There’s something about the way certain people smell. I dated a guy once who had the nicest aroma. It was lovely. I think I was more upset about not getting to smell him anymore when he broke up with me than I was about not getting to see him anymore. You know who else (probably) smells good? Ryan Gosling. I mean, I’ve never seen him in real life. But if you’ve ever seen Half Nelson, you know what I mean. Ryan smells good. I just know it.

So anyway, back to the sniffer. I really didn’t blame him for taking a whiff of eau de moi. It’s the whole pheromones thing, though you can’t actually smell pheromones. And there is no scientific proof that humans actually have pheromones. I’d like to think we do. Whatever. I think he said I smelled good. And I have to say, I’d rather get sniffed than cheek licked. (From jaw to eye…when I was SIXTEEN. Not okay.)