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Winnipeg Free Press - PRINT EDITION

We guys stink real good

By: Doug Speirs

Posted: 04/30/2012 1:00 AM | Comments: 0

I smell great.

Don't get me wrong. I don't mean I have an ultra-sensitive nose like a bloodhound that allows me to follow tiny scent particles and track escaped convicts, even if they're hiding in a swamp and breathing through a hollow reed the way you see in black-and-white prison movies.

What I mean is, if you were here right now and took a healthy whiff of the aroma wafting off my skin, you would probably not become violently ill or lapse into a coma.

This is unusual, what with me being a guy and everything. As a general rule, guys are not known for being fragrant in the positive sense of the word. Your typical guy emits stink molecules that are visible to the naked eye.

If you have ever been downwind of a standard guy, especially a teenage guy, you will know our bodies pump out a heady mix of hormones and sweat reminiscent of the toxic aroma lurking at the bottom of a gym bag.

And we're proud of it. We find it comforting. In fact, the only body odour we find more appealing is the one we achieve after spending several hours standing in front of a barbecue grilling dead animal parts and drinking beer.

But women don't seem to appreciate this. I base that statement on my wife, who, along with being a woman, made me go shopping with her over the weekend, despite the fact the NHL playoffs don't end until late September.

The worst part was she made me join her in a place that strikes fear in any sane man's heart -- a bath and body boutique. What I'm talking about here is one of those mall outlets where they sell creams and lotions and gels and soaps and exfoliants and scrubs and moisturizers and cleansers and salts and oils and smells like someone detonated a bomb inside a florist's shop.

My wife insisted on visiting this store to buy something called "body butter," which (and you should trust me here) does not taste anywhere near as good as it sounds.

We guys know how to behave in stores like this. While our wives excitedly read labels, we stoically wander about five feet behind, staring at our shoes and sending the following telepathic message: "I'm with her!"

When my wife discovered the store was having a two-for-one sale, she was thrilled. "We can get some things for you, too," she squealed, then dragged me over to a wall of bath products, most of which were made from mysterious tropical ingredients I had never heard of before. "Pick TWO of them!" my wife demanded.

I stood there in a cold sweat, then slowly, furtively grabbed two plastic bottles with pictures -- one had a grapefruit, the other an orange -- that I recognized. Only then did my wife agree we could leave the mall and go home.

That night -- and I am not sure why I did this -- I decided to throw caution to the wind and test these products out, so I squeezed several healthy globs of goop from both bottles into the tub, then hopped in and floated, submersed in exotically scented bubbles, reading Sports Illustrated.

After about an hour, I climbed out, dried off, pulled on my ratty green bathrobe and strolled into our den to confront my wife.

Before I could speak, she crinkled her nose in wonder. "What's that smell?" she demanded.

I took a long whiff. "It's me!" I grunted in horror.

"OHMYGAWD!" my wife suddenly shrieked, "You smell like a fruit salad!"

So I stomped out and spent the next hour doing a slow burn in front of a smoking barbecue. What else can a guy do when he's incensed?

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca

Republished from the Winnipeg Free Press print edition April 30, 2012 A2

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