Fragrance Foul

Do you remember the old days when stores didn't have their own unique smell? When industrial floor cleaner was the only scent you noticed when shopping. I, for one, miss those days. Shopping has become an assault on the senses, a dizzying combination of lights, sounds and smells.

Yesterday I accompanied my wife to the local mall to return a gift bathrobe which was the wrong size. Deep down I knew that this errand would not entail a short trip to the Customer Service counter, an exchange of items, and a quick trot back to the car, but I was hoping. After taking care of the matter at hand, my wife turned away from the outer door from which we entered and pointed herself towards the wide open spaces of the main mall. Dutifully, I shuffled behind.

Thankfully, my wife is not a marathon shopper, but rather a brisk moving hunter who visits only her select stores. A former gymnast, she is five foot nothing and less than one hundred pounds, yet has shoulders like an NFL strong safety. Clothes shopping is a chore for her, an annoying search for frocks that fit. Rarely am I present when she shops for things to wear.
However, I always seem to be with her when she is nick-knack shopping.

Last night we ran the nick-knack circuit. All of these shops carry a strong potpourri aroma that immediately attacks my sinuses upon entering the store. Tears drip down my cheek, my eyes burning from the pungent odor. I stumble through the brick-a-bra ck feeling my way through the aisles. I need to get out of this store! How many wooden Santa Claus's can one person look at anyway? Finally, through my stinging peepers I am able to spot daylight. Brushing past the crowded register I exit and vigorously rub my eyes. My wife leaves the store, beholds my blinking, flinching form before her, shakes her head and forges onward.
It's on to the candle store.

The moment we enter the candle store, my nose hair stages an immediate revolt. It feels like I am going to sneeze, but I don't, I just have that pre-sneeze inhale with no payoff. My face is now contorted in sneeze mode, prompting a concerned sales person to check and see if I am alright. I assure he that I am currently loosing a battle a yet undetermined scent and that I will be fine once I am able to breath again. Sensing that I am disabled and therefore a prime sales target, she attempts to sell me on the healing benefits of the Mandarin Cranberry candle. I politely decline the sales pitch and spot my wife leaving the store. I suck in the fresh mall air like a prisoner just released from solitary confinement.

My wife continues on with me in tow. Before entering yet another nick-knack store, my wife graciously offers me a pardon, pointing to a vacant bench in the middle of the mall. My plan was to make that bench my temporary mall home for the duration of the visit. I sat down, my nose relaxed and happy. Minutes later a woman talking on her cell phone sits down beside me. With her is a huge shopping bag from Bed, Bath and Beyond. A familiar stench rises from the bag and heads directly for my adenoids. Sugar and Fig bath sets are 50% off. Help!