early morning subway musings:

The familiar, musty scent of male cologne is wafting down the train platform. Like an older man, in his attempt for youth, bathed himself in Stetson, letting the pungent oils settle into every crease and fold in his skin- dousing his face, slicking back his hair. As if this strange ritual was sure to attract every eligible woman in a 50 mile radius- offending their senses, berating their nostrils, and leaving them light-headed and vulnerable to his advances.

I'm trying to find the culprit- usually it's a 60 year old Italian man with a gold chain nestled into his overabundant chest hair who catches your 1/2 second gaze and nods and smiles. I know then that I've only encouraged his behavior- furthered his belief that these tactics are effective mating rituals. That every woman fantasizes of drowning in a sea of ambrosial sweat underneath a hairy, Italian man. Ignore his advances and you're simply playing hard-to-get. Can you win?