How to use this Page

A relaxing morning, cooler temperatures, a good run, and a mystery to be solved. That’s what greeted me on Sunday. What started off as an excellent day devolved into a conspiracy against me! The evidence piled up early until I had no other option but to come to the conclusion that I am not trusted in my home when it comes to selecting fragrances.

No one would tell me this shocking news, of course. I had to figure it out on my own. Since my littlest’s sickness means my wife stays with her most of the time, I must do a good portion of the shopping. I am up to the task. I have now purchased things I didn’t know we used, needed, or even existed. One of those things is fragrance products. Did you know there is a whole store that just sells that? I knew about air fresheners, baking soda, and odor-eaters, but do we really need a store.

The aforementioned little one currently loves bubble bath – which apparently, they only sell at the smell store. So I volunteered the previous day to go and get her more. When I did so, I noticed a few sneers and strange looks around the room. Never did I think they would stoop so low as to plot an underhanded way to keep me from helping. But that’s just what they did.

I believe in honesty! If someone has an issue with me, tell me. I would much rather someone tell me that my pants are too tight and my shirt too puffy than let me walk around all day looking like a foolish pirate. I guess this is a value I have been lax in instilling in my children…

On our way home from church, we passed the smell store. When I suggested to the two daughters present that we stop in, I got fumbling excuses about homework and hunger. I should have known something was amiss right then. I mean, when do they ever want to do homework?

Arriving at home, pizza appeared from nowhere along with cold Dr. Pepper. I was ushered to the TV where the Falcons game was already cued up on the DVR. Hmmmm….

Lulled into a football coma, three hours passed as my team got pushed around by their opponent. Likewise, I got manhandled by five delicate females. Angry about the game, I grabbed my keys to go – only to find that the purchases had already been made.

I was going to get something exotic, tropical… something that would have let her float away to an island retreat… Whatever scent I picked would have soothed her beyond all her troubles. It would have uplifted her mood and spirits just to reflect on its glorious scent. My choices were as endless as a box a crayons:

Warm Vanilla Sugar

Peace, Love & Daisies

Pure Paradise

Endless Weekend

Why wouldn’t they let me? Why?

None would make eye contact with me as I probed for an answer, leaving me:

Hurt

Disappointed

Rejected

Betrayed

Finally the little one said, “Dad, you like the smell of your farts.”

And there it is! Honesty! That’s all I’m asking for.                  Wait… Huh?

I came home the recently to find this at my doorstep.

I know!  This is an outrage!

It may seem innocuous initially with its flowery packaging and appealing colors, but read between the lines.  Oh, can’t see it clearly? This, my good readers, is a box of scent.  Why is that a big deal, you might ask?  Because, consider the implications of someone giving you a scent meant to cover your current odor. That’s right! Somebody thinks I stink!

Where did this come from? What dastardly knave would leave such a foul gesture on the front step of another?

I know my wife didn’t order something so frivolous when she already has an olfactory sensation in me! I’m like a bed of roses, just ask me.

Did the UPS guy drop it off, and if I so, what does he think of me now?

Is there a scent fairy that didn’t make it into the legend books or that movie where they all teamed up?  A Santa Clause for the nose, as it were.

Why does a box of fragrance smell an awful lot like cardboard? What kind of rip-off is that?

These were the questions I asked myself as I sat beside my box, my anger growing every minute. I began plotting how I would discover the origin of this unwanted gift. I figured it had to be one of my neighbors. We have two that come to mind when anything suspect happens on our street. Two doors down on either side are families that each have their own quirks. We all have those neighbors, so I won’t detail their eccentricities. Suffice it to say that when the media shows up at my door because the police are leading them off in chains, I will NOT say, “Oh, they were normal folks. I can’t believe they found eleven bodies in their yard.”

Since I couldn’t be positive it was either of them, I spent the better part of the afternoon parading up and down the street holding the conspicuous box in my arms so all could see. I watched the eyes of everyone I met – it’s all in the eyes. Each neighbor I encountered looked at the box suspiciously as we engaged in meaningless small-talk, but I never ran across the guilty expression that would pin-point the offender. All-in-all, it was a wasted effort and most likely branded me as neighborhood weirdo number three (if I don’t already wear that label).

When I arrived back at home, I expected the usual June Cleaver welcome. I did not receive anything so grand, my wife was more focused on the box in my arms. For all the attention I got, I may as well have been the UPS delivery guy – whose opinion of me is now as questionable as my odor must be.

“Oh good, the plug-ins are here. Every one in the house has run out,” she said as she took the box and repaired to another room with nary a kind word for me.

What kind of marriage of deception is this? For twenty-two years I lived under the delusion that I was responsible for the lovely smells around here only to discover that in the opinion of my beloved, I stink.

Oh well, even though I now know it isn’t me, I do like the smell of Warm Vanilla Sugar wafting from every outlet in the house…

iTunes users can subscribe to this podcast

If you have experienced truffles they are most likely to be the chocolate kind.  These only came later and although they might seem expensive, they are a bargain compared to the truffles they take their name form.

The first citation we have in English for the word truffle comes in a translation of a 1591 document entitled The geomancie of Maister Christopher Cattan Gentleman.

Geomancie was a very popular technique at the time for predicting the future.  It was like reading the signs in chicken entrails, but without the mess.

Instead geomancie used signs from the earth itself.  And two of the things that came from the earth are mentioned in this citation we have for truffle.  One is topaz, the precious stone and the other is truffle itself.

Originally truffles had nothing to do with chocolate and everything to do with earth.

Truffles are a kind of mushroom that grows underground.  They are highly prized by gourmets and consequently sell for hundreds or even thousands of dollars a pound.

But the Geomancie of Maister Christopher Cattan Gentleman got it all wrong because what it says there is that

“The Topas and the Truffle haue power of Chastity, and to subdue the flesh.”

If this was true I suspect the market price of truffles would be lower than the chocolate variety.

The fact is that truffles are so highly valued because they are particularly aromatic and the reason they are aromatic is because they need to attract hungry animals to help them spread their spores.

Not only is the truffle itself motivated by sex, but some of the complex aromas it produces mimic sexual aromas in animals.

Pigs in particular are turned on by truffles.

And to the extent that a man’s armpit holds any appeal at all, some truffle scent elements share these manly attributes; at least according to the chemists.  There must be something to it, referring again to the price tag on the things.

As far as the etymology of truffle goes, their poor cousins are potatoes since the thinking is that truffle evolved from the Latin word tuber.

The reason that both truffles and potatoes are tubers is that a tuber is a swelling, in this case on the roots of plants or trees.

This swelling meaning goes back to Indo-European teu and has made its way up into any number of modern words for things that are swollen.

Thumbs are thicker than other fingers and the thigh is the thicker part of the leg. Both thumb and thigh go back to the same Indo-European root.

For all their value truffles are shapeless blobs with a dusty crackled surface and it seems that it was this shape and surface texture that caused their name to be lent to chocolate truffles, not their luxury allure.

The first citation we have for chocolate truffles is from 1926 in the unlikeliest of places, the Army & Navy Stores catalogue.

If you’ve ever had supper in an Italian restaurant where they served tartuffo for desert, now you know that this ball of ice-cream with nuts or chocolate shavings as a coating is named for the Italian word for truffle.

Moliere, the French playwright wrote a play called Tartuffe.  The main character is named Tartuffe because he is a religious hypocrite and like a truffle his true nature lies hidden below the surface.

ShareThis

The other day I got in the car and my husband said, "...Do you have a new perfume or something?" He did not say this in a "Wow, you smell great" tone of voice.

And I did. I had a new Secret deodorant with a scent of--wait for it--Glacier Mist. Now, how does a glacier smell? I have no idea. But the words Glacier Mist brought to mind crisp, clear, Arctic mornings--very appropriate for here in Minnesota! But when I stopped to smell the armpit, I realized that it was actually a heavy, flowery scent. Ick. I don't like floral scents, in general. That's why I buy things with scents like Glacier Mist and Ocean Breeze and Mountain Air. My hygiene and household products have been to a lot more exciting places than I have!

But it's my own fault. Did I open the deodorant and smell it before I bought it? No. 

Earlier this year, when we were remodeling the bathroom, we had to pick out a paint. My husband found the perfect pale, creamy yellow. But it was called Runnymeade. What the heck is runnymeade? It sounded British, which was fine. But yellow and runny...well, I thought of undercooked eggs or babies' runny noses. Now, the runnymeade looks terrific in the bathroom, but I confess I still think of its name occasionally and wish it had been named something beautiful, Morning Goldenrod or Tahitian Beach or something like that.

I tend to be a circumspect consumer, not falling easily for catchphrases and promises. But I've let my guard down lately. The name of a scent or a color can change the way I approach a product, which of course explains why companies pay copywriters and namers to come up with intriguing names for shades of lipstick and nail polish and laundry detergent and room fresheners.

So, it's back to vanilla-pear deodorant for me.

Anybody else taken in by lovely names of things, only to discover the product isn't really what you wanted?

Author: Eugene Trivizas
Illustrator: Helen Oxenbury
Published: 2003 Egmont Books
ISBN: 1405209453 Chapters.ca Amazon.com

Every aspect of the traditional tale is reversed to its ridiculous extreme in this perfectly worded and illustrated retelling of “The Three Little Pigs”. I guess it could be seen as light and corny — and maybe this makes me light and corny — but I find this story to be meaningful, relevant and full of hope. After all, wasn’t Einstein’s definition of insanity repeating an action and expecting a different result?

A play based on this book is available for download on the�Egmont website