I'm not a metrosexual, but.....

My wife has been spending a lot of time recently perusing perfumes. It has become something of a hobby for her, recently. Now, in my world, perfume comes somewhere between the mating habits of the Rhodesian fruit fly and the current position of the morroccan watermelon societie's position on underwater basketweaving on my list of interests. I understand that it consumes my wife's attention, and that is fine. It's part of what she enjoys, and while I can't tell you what a perfume note is, I can say that she enjoys it immensely, not unlike how I obsess on the minutiae of firearms, and my wife fails to comprehend. It's okay. It's how we are. Anyway, part of her obsession involves constantly asking me to smell this and take a wiff of that. It's something I do for her and just let it go, much like sometimes little brown boxes show up on the doorstep from UPS containing a piece of obscure, yet unique piece of metal that she neither understands nor cares to. It's part of my obsession, as smelling these odors is hers.

So, usually, I make a real try at giving her my thoughts on the subtle nuances , but inevitably I fail miserably. Now, along with this, she sometimes instists that I try some cologne so that she can find out how it smells on me. This almost always ends in abject failure. I say 'almost' because she recently made me wear a cologne that I hate to say I actually really liked. I don't even know what it is called, "wolf" or some such thing, but it does smell wonderful. It smells like old leather chairs, fine pipe tobacco, and well oiled walnut shotgun stocks. I liked it so much, that I may actually end up authorizing Domestic-6 purchasing a whole bottle of the stuff. Maybe I am getting soft in my old age, but I figure that it might not be unacceptable to temper my overall appearance as a thuggish cowboy with a subtle touch of refinement.

Respectfully Submitted,
-doc Russia