I got home late last night from my biznass trip in Arkansas.
V Dizz picked me up at the airport,
gave me a big hug,
then promptly said,
Thanks Boo, it's good to see you too.
I blame the smell on my 70 year old seat mate.
Who, at first, I thought looked like the old man, Noah Calhoun, from The Notebook.
So I watched him from the corner of my eye for a moment,
wondering where his "Allie" was.
I didn't see her around, so then I felt bad for the little fella
and thought about giving him a hug and telling him it was all going to be okay.
He must have sensed my stare, because he looked at me and began talking.
And he just.wouldn't.stop.
Where are you from?
Where are you coming from?
What do you do?
Where do you live?
And man, it was all I could do to stop myself from physically plugging my nose
from the waft coming mere inches from my face.
I politely pulled out my iPad to silently say,
"Noah, this is a Red Eye and you smell. Please stop talking to me now."
How do you like reading on that?
How many books can you hold?
Do you have both fiction and non fiction?
You can imagine my discomfort.
But he was old...and I couldn't be rude,
so I pushed Crazy Connie aside and breathed through my mouth the rest of the way home.
That's why I smelled.
Being in the hot sun and travelling all day had nothing to do with it, I'm sure.