My House: Where Women Smell Like Women and So Do The Men

I did something tonight that I haven't done in awhile. No, it's not pole dancing. I gave up pole dancing after I had my first kid. (Mom, this is a joke. I haven't pole danced since college.)

Um, yeah, anyway, so I watched T.V., and I saw this commercial.

When the commercial ended I thought to myself, "Tru Dat." I almost always think in street lingo. I'm down like that. All right you busted me. My inner dialogue is actually in a thick English accent. It might not be as cool as thinking in street, but it explains the tiara I insist on wearing around the house.

O.K. Back on point. You guys are so easily distracted ...or maybe that's me.

The message of this commercial couldn't have come at a better time in my life. Let me tell what I've been going through. The other day I leaned in to kiss my husband. I inhaled and smelled,

wait for it,

Olay Body Wash.

I immediately made up my mind that when I went grocery shopping I would purchase a body wash that smelled like a man. That's right, I'm one of the gazillion women that prefer her man to smell like a man. I don't want him to smell like just any man. I want him to smell like a man that rides horses backwards on a beach. Is there anything sexier than a man riding a horse backwards?

I wanted to make sure that I picked up a body wash that was scented just to my liking so I took to sniffing each of the different men's body washes. There were a lot of them, and I'm pretty sure that at some point I looked like I was huffing in the soap aisle, and I may or may not have gotten a little too close to one of the bottles and gotten some on my nose. In spite of my tribulations, I persisted because I'm an amazing wife that wouldn't want her man to smell like a chick. My motivation was, as it always is, pure and selfless.

I sniffed the Axe body washes and decided that a good wife would never let her husband leave for work smelling like one of the boys from the Jersey Shore so I put it back on the shelf. Then I checked out the Old Spice. It was, after all, the inspiration for this excursion (that and because I ran out of cereal). The bottle looked good and manly. It had a football player on the front. It spoke to me. It said, "I am man. I watch football. I like boobies. I smell like man. Grr." When a bottle says something like that you have no choice but to put it back down, take an anti-psychotic medication and buy the most reasonably priced body wash. I feel confident that  it will go well with his exceptionally manly, partially waxed chest.