Bug Spray Cologne

There was a time not long ago when women smelled a lot like women. They bathed in sweet scented salts and misted their tender flesh with the fragrance of roses and lilacs. Even the most near sighted among us could discern and correctly identify the approaching female of the species. That, of course, was before the advent of the so-called designer colognes.

Life was so simple back then: women smelled like flowers, and insecticides manifested an aroma calculated to alert the unwary and to turn up the toes of your most virulent household pest. Now Raid and Black Flag are floral scented and women smell like bug spray.

God only knows what they put in those unholy brews. That is the chemist’s dirty little secret, and he ain’t talking. But you can bet that no one is painstakingly crushing flower petals in the time honored method to extract their essence. These scents are more likely distilled from the waste products of petroleum refineries and sewage treatment plants. Then the Madison Avenue crowd gives them clit-tickling names like Lust or Orgasm, packages them in little crystal bottles and sells them in exclusive shops for exorbitant prices. And women fight for the chance to be the first on their block to spend the rent money on each new offering from these purveyors of nasal pollution – to be the first to asphyxiate her unsuspecting boyfriend.

One would think that women, too, would be repulsed by these noxious amalgamations. The fact that they appear to be unaffected gives additional credence to the theory, which we have long entertained, that the olfactory nerve is deficient in the female. A person who is capable of changing a dirty diaper without losing her lunch might be able to wear these fragrances in perfect safety.

This is definitely not true for men. Though the long term effects of inhaling the fumes have not yet been determined, even the immediate consequences are harmful enough to have these products banned by the Geneva Convention. Nuzzling the bosom of the most naive farm girl or virginal debutante may well be hazardous to your health. A ride across town in public conveyance or a couple hours in a crowded theater is an ordeal comparable to an excursion into the bowels of an active volcano. The vision blurs; the nose stops up; tears roll from bloodshot eyes and cascade down sallow cheeks; that annoying little tickle at the base of the throat throws the epiglottis into spasm, restricting the breathing and triggering the gag reflex.

There ought to be legal remedy for this unprovoked assault. But whom shall we blame? It is difficult to believe that it is the women themselves, in feminist frenzy, declaring olfactory war on the men in their lives. Surely they are innocent dupes in this diabolical scheme. But can we lay responsibility solely at the door of the chemical companies who parlayed their stinking concoctions into fortunes for their stockholders? Or should we blame the ad agencies who took such shameful liberties with fabled feminine gullibility?

Finally, how do we reinstate the natural order of things? Neither the chemical companies nor the ad agencies are likely voluntarily to relinquish the gold mine they’ve discovered. Legislation such as that pushed through by the anti-smoking lobby would seem to be a logical solution, but the president and congress are far too timid to tackle such a controversial issue. And appealing to the common sense of any woman who would spend her hard earned money for the privilege of smelling like a toxic waste dump would be a ludicrous waste of effort.

Perhaps we should just tell them straight out what we think of that ultra-expensive crap they sprinkle so liberally on their persons. Though it pains us at last to admit it, it is up to us to right this grievous wrong. The next time some luscious young lovely wearing Eau de Love Canal sits herself down on your lap, look deeply into her baby blues and tell her tenderly to go home and take a bath. She will be insulted, of course; she may even get angry. No woman likes to be told that she stinks, but sometimes cruelty is the greater kindness. Bear in mind, it is in her own best interests, and maybe someday she will tender you the thanks you so surely deserve.