— photo from SF, who says this is visible everywhere on the F train
So. There I was, at Macy’s — of course — when I saw the most GORGEOUS man walking by, and right then I wanted to have his babies. His musk smelled like bergamot. I would go bergamot-shaped for him. Hand to God, yes I would. He made me tremble at the knees. TREMBLE, I tell you. And ivy leaves and coriander, like pastrami sandwiches eaten on a blanket in the park. There was blue sage, not that whorish purple mind you, but Hampton Blue. And Orange flowers with geranium, because somehow he just knew I like geraniums best. They don’t bother. And I swore I smelled patchouli and sandalwood, mixed with suede! It was just like when I surprised Charlotte in her dorm room at Vassar while she was knee-deep in “study” with her history professor who couldn’t wear out the corduroy elbows on his jacket for the suede.
Will I ever see that man again? Here, sweetheart, put this on.
Um…
In my mind, I imagined Martin Short reading this while in drag. Doesn’t sound good in my baritone.
But what do I know from funny. I should have gone with, “WHO WANTS TO SMELL LIKE RUSSELL MARTIN’S TAINT?”