The Sweet Smell, According to Cowboy Bob
Cowboy Bob has once again commented on my blog, and it’s always good to see what others think, so I edited his comments a bit to share with you today. Thanks, Cowboy, Bob!
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I found myself reading a blog about perfumes and I laughed at the elaborate well-thought-out names. Now, it may surprise you that a Montana cowboy would have an opinion of the scented world, but after riding my sweaty horse Slowpoke all day, removing his saddle and brushing him until he was dry, then smelling of my own odorific body, I thought a little dose of perfume might actually be nice.
I thought I would buy some perfume for a lady I am romancing, she smells pretty good, if you like lye soap, crisp and clean, but I thought maybe a little French perfume would add to the romance. So, I went to a department store that my friend told me about and was greeted by three gorgeous models with long blinking eyelashes, who beckoned, “Come here, Cowboy, and I will fix you right up.” One beauty grabbed me like a carnival barker and started peppering me with questions about spicy or sexy, roses or dogwood, perfume or body oil and other details that made me realize I had no business in that place. She was determined and sprayed me with something on my left arm, then on my right, and, oh boy, I was smitten for sure. Then she sprayed more on little cardboard squares that clogged my nose and all I could think about were those long batting eyelashes. I needed to get out of there, so I said, “I got fifty bucks to spend, what can I get?” I must have broken that poor girl’s heart because tears dropped down her cheek. She was good, maybe related to the ring man at the cattle auction, so sad and earnest and I felt bad. So, I upped my offer to a hundred, and she said, “We have a perfume here that’s discontinued, and have only one bottle that usually sells for three hundred, but for you, Cowboy, it’s a hundred.” I haggle pretty well, but when those eyelashes and her smile revved up, I got whipped down. So, I walked out a hundred bucks poorer, but I had a bottle of French perfume and headed to my pickup with my dog to see my lady.
I arrived at her place, fought off her heeler, knocked, and when she opened the door, I said, “Surprise!” and handed her this little pink package with the nice satin bow.
“What the heck is this?” she asked.
I smiled seductively and said (because I’m a Montana guy and a smooth talker), “It is a token of my strong feelings for you.” I didn’t mention that it cost me three days’ overtime pay.
She carefully unwrapped it, as if expecting a snake inside and said, “Do you know what the name of this stuff is?”
I said that I did not rightly know, but it smelled awfully nice, not mentioning the batting eyelashes of the saleslady.
“Why do I need this, don’t you like me the way I am?” she pouted.
That put me in a tight spot, so I said, “Imagine you’re wearing an evening gown in Paris, having a wonderful time, we’ve been to the Cabaret. This will remind you of that moment.” Now that was a pretty good line, and I sat back and waited.
She said, “An evening gown in Paris, Texas? Have you gone loco? You remember that I took high school French and can read these words. Do you know what the name of this perfume is?”
Now I was on the ropes and shook my head, keeping my big mouth shut for a change. She laughed and said, “It means something like take your clothes off.” I was speechless and ready to head back to the barn and saddle up Slowpoke, but then she took my hand and said, “Let’s go in here and try this out.”
So, I guess there is something to be said for the sweet smells inside the bottle.
