He Knocked Me To My Knees
Liver and onions. My grandmother used to make that dish on a regular basis. It is the first memory confirming my heightened sense of smell. When I came home from school and the house reeked of that disgusting concoction I would promptly (and very dramatically) rush outside to the patio to do my homework—the requisite gag reflex loudly kicking in. “That’s your weak stomach, you’ve been puking since you were a baby,” my gram would say, unruffled.
I was beginning to wonder if I was being too particular about looks. Perhaps lowering my standards was something to consider, then I got an email message from Randy. Tall, older male model handsome, and a clever writer to boot–finally a guy who grabbed me immediately and we quickly scheduled a first date.
We met in front of Time Warner Center, Columbus Circle. Randy was even better in person. He wore a beautifully tailored dress shirt, jeans, and stylish loafers that had to be Italian.
I love a man who knows his way around a shoe store.
We went inside and headed to Stone Rose Lounge for cocktails. The view of Columbus Circle from the massive windows was spectacular and I promptly ordered a martini and felt rather chic. Randy ordered a glass of wine and as the ridiculously long French name flowed effortlessly from his mouth he met my “sophisticated” requirement.
The conversation was easy–he was exactly the sort of man I was hoping to meet. My only concern was that I’d have to stop blogging about my year of online dating now that I’d met the perfect guy only two months in (I know you’d miss me).
Could it really be this simple?
Two drinks later Randy walked me home. We held hands as we strolled together and it felt natural. I imagined that passersby must be glancing at us and thinking, now there’s a pair made for each other.
He kissed me in front of my building and I felt THE feeling. The butterflies in my stomach, feels like I’m floating, can’t believe my luck sort of emotion–I couldn’t wait to see him again. We talked and sent texts over the next few days until our second date. I even told my daughters that I’d met someone special.
Date two we’d arranged to have dinner in my neighborhood. Keeping with the “he might be the one” theme I invited him to my apartment for a drink and appetizers before we made our way to the restaurant. I carefully chose the wine and several kinds of cheese. Small portions, arranged artfully on a plate with bits of freshly baked bread, some ripe berries and the tiny sesame crackers I adore. I was bringing my A-game.
Randy arrived, greeted Nigel and Kate (my dogs) and sat down on the sofa as I poured the wine–such a civilized life in the big city.
Dear God, did Nigel break wind?
Wonder Boy does that sometimes when he’s excited. A tiny gag followed, but I rallied. As I sat down next to Randy the odor intensified.
Is it the cheese? Why would I get Maytag?
Bigger gag and a slight heaving sound.
“Are you OK?” Randy asked and leaned in. I had just started to revel in the feel of his lavender cashmere sweater against my arm when it hit me like a sock to the gut.
RANDY WAS THE FUNKMEISTER.
A longtime friend of mine, Gene, could always make me laugh but never more than when he described a smelly individual. He’d say, “The funk knocked me to my knees.” Randy’s smell was a big roundhouse smack that had me recoiling.
This is what sasquatch smells like.
“Let (gag) me (urp) get (heave) the (odd choking sound) wine,” I said as I stumbled to the kitchen, stood over the sink–just in case–and took several deep breaths.
This odor did not attend the first date because there wouldn’t have been a second and before you think I was overreacting I’d like to describe the smell. It wasn’t just your average post-gym sweat. Oh no, that musky male scent is rather appealing in small doses.
THIS was the Chuck Noland (Tom Hanks) character after he’d been on the island for a year, Cast Away Funk. A concentration of pungent scent so odorous that his only solution must be to leave Manhattan and seek refuge in a remote part of the country and live the rest of his life in solitude as his gift to humanity. This was Empty Subway Car At Rush Hour, Get Kicked Off A Plane, Asked To Leave A Restaurant, and Don’t You Dare Get In This Elevator–noxious odor.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I must have the flu. You’ve gotta go. HURRY.”
He sensed the urgency and quickly got up. “Poor baby. This is sudden,” Randy said as he made his way to the door. Just before he put on his jacket—the barrier—he threw his arm around me and gave me a squeeze.
I tried to twist away but there it was. Resting on my shoulder: The telltale pit—stinking, stinking, stinking.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, MY BEST CLEAVAGE SHIRT. WHY, WHY, WHHHHHYY? GET—OUT, PUTRID BEAST.
When the door shut I sprang into action. Ripped the blouse off, opened every window and Fabrezed the sofa (yeah, he had his arm on the back), then jumped in the shower, scrubbed my body and mentally constructed the “thanks, but no thanks” email message I’d be sending to Randy. I regretted not having tomato juice to douse myself with.
Once clean and bundled up (it was freezing), I gave my place the sniff test.
Eau de Randy was hanging tough. Another round of Fabreze, the shirt went down the garbage chute, and all I could do was wait but not with Randy’s essence clinging to the space. The dogs and I headed out into the crisp Manhattan evening for a lengthy walk—Kate was justifiably grossed out.
AND on that night as we strolled along for an hour, the distinct river-smell of the Hudson that normally made my nose wrinkle was magically transformed into something almost as pleasant as my favorite Creed fragrance as it wafted over my olfactory glands.
Have you had an experience like this? Make me feel better and please share in the Comments section.
”Wear perfume wherever you want to be kissed.” Coco Chanel
Men should smell yummy….
Lavender cashmere…he probably got it from his stinky grandma and never washed it since he got it from her – who never washed it. Gross! Remember Mel, if at first something seems too good to be true, it usually is
Keep going beautiful…
Thanks, Tracy. That’s true in most cases. My problem is that on one occasion when it was “too good to be true” it was the best thing that every happened to me so I keep hoping. Sweater from his grandma–hilarious!
It’s amazing how he could lack the self awareness of his own gnarly stench! What was he thinking? LOL
Dan, if I give you his number will you call and ask? I’d love to know too:)
Mel, I had to stop reading at “the walk home, holding hands”, I needed to refill my wine glass in anticipation to read about the arrival home and waiting to read about the “fireworks”! In great Melanie fashion you kept me reading about disgusting smells! Trying to give “Randy” the benefit of the doubt for you because he sounds so handsome in all aspects of the word, are you sure you didn’t have Limburger or Munster cheese on your appetizer plate? On the other hand, kind of happy he wasn’t it so I can continue to read your blog!
Lol. Yeah, the lavender sweater was the first red flag, Melani. If there’s a next date make sure you include an activity like, oh, washing the car. Then you can soap him up real good before you take him home. And for God sakes, no Indian food!
Yikes. Seems impossible that you could have kissed on the first date and not noticed the smell. But maybe his A-game then included bathing, and normally it doesn’t. In any event, I know what you mean here. I’ve encountered women who had a scent that just put me off completely, and no amount of other charm could make up for it.
Thanks, Stan. I don’t know why there was no such odor on that first date. He was very close. I have no idea what happened. Perhaps it was lust a fluke but I couldn’t get beyond it. It might come back!
How could you blame that dear sweet boy Nigel for such behavior? After all, he is a Norwich Terrier!!! Englishmen have better manners than that. As his birthmom I’m still a bit protective I suppose but I suggest you blame Kate next time : )
Your posts have made me laugh to the point of tears! D
Wonder Boy is a perfect gentleman but has the occasional slip. Glad you liked the post, Dori!
you didn’t post your “sorry you’re not the right one” email!!!!
I know, Steve. I probably should have. I didn’t say anything about his odor, just that I didn’t feel a connection on our second date. I probably should’ve told him why, but he was a very nice man and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. It was really awful though.
Oh Mel…that’s just awful. Thanks to your eloquent writing I could literally smell him permeating my room!! Yes, unfortunately I’ve smelled what your describing, however not from my date but a homeless man. What the heck was he thinking?
The nose “knows!” I believe it has something to do with compatibility or instinct, because every time I think someone has a funny or bad smell, that person ends up being trouble at some point. It’s not BO either–no amount of scrubbing changes this.
Melani,
When you started describing the stench all I could think of was Sully the ram at the sheep farm I help out at. He was put in a stall with three ewes for reproductive purposes. The stench from him was so god awful. . Everytime I went in his stall to changed the water I wanted to vomit. All I could think of was “Ihose poor ewes. They have to be locked in with that horrible smelling ram and what he will do to them.” Love your blog.
Ha! Sully the ram. I love it!
I do so remember those liver and onion days. I would be walking home from school and from the neighbors home I could smell the odor of my top listed worst food of all time coming from my home. Problem was my parents loved liver and onions so every once in a while I had to endure the smell. My mom always tried to fool me, “No, it’s not liver, it’s steak…” Ya, right, when pigs fly.
As for your smelly suitor, I can only think about a Seinfeld episode where the valet funked up Jerry’s Saab and for days afterwards the smell was stuck to Jerry and Elaine. They couldn’t get rid of the smell no matter what they did and then THEY smelled as bad as the car. Jerry even tried to have a homeless guy steal the car and he thought is smelled horrible.
Maybe this was the guy, the valet that funked-up Jerry’s car….. you think?
Oh my god, Michael! I forgot about that episode! That’s right and I know lots of the Seinfeld content was based on experiences Larry David had. I think it’s either the same guy or maybe a relative. That sort of funk has to be genetic.
Yes, Larry David did base a lot on personal experience. And, you are in NY so it could very well be. We need to ask him if he was ever a valet.
Too funny….
I hate to tell mention this, but I’m Italian and my now long passed-on grandmother once said, “if a woman is attracted to the smell (pheromones) of her man’s armpit, then she is in love and has found the one….” Do you think it’s wrong of me to randomly ask women to smell my armpits? It’s a numbers game, right?
Just kidding.
You know, Michael, your grandmother was right! I never smelled his armpits, but when I was married, I absolutely loved the smell of my husband’s skin. He didn’t smell, but there was something there that was alluring and very sexy to me.
I’ve got one for you … A guy drove from another state to meet me. He stayed in a hotel, and I picked him up from his hotel to go get dinner. He was nice enough, but his breath was so terrible that I opened the car window, even though it was February. In Maine. I took out a tin of Altoids and put one in my mouth, then offered him one. IT DIDN’T HELP AT ALL. After dinner I brought him directly back to his hotel (with my window open again). I could not get away fast enough.
Theresa, do you think he forgot his toothbrush?
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