Burdened With an Overabundance of Sexy Manliness

An odd thing happened to me during an interaction with one of my female co-workers just now. This is how the conversation went down:

Me (sweet and innocent as a babe in arms): Would you like me to handle the transition of the account into your department?

Female Co-worker (unable to control herself any longer): You smell so good.

Me (suddenly scared and confused): Um…

Female Co-worker (ravenous in her intent): You just smell so…masculine.

Me (concerned that she’s being facetious, as it’s been very muggy lately): I’m sorry, it’s been very muggy lately and it’s a long walk from my car.

Female Co-worker (behaving like one of those women of questionable morals you frequently see on late-night cable movies): No, it’s not that. It’s a good smell. It’s very…alluring.

Me (desperate to end the conversation): I have to go to the bathroom.

So there you have it. It seems that the potency of the old Drier pheromones peaks sometime in the summer of the thirty-second year. This new biological talent of mine would have been far more useful to me, of course, in high school, when girls kept a healthy distance from me and sometimes offered me unsolicited breath mints. There’s no sense in agonizing over what might have been, though. If I can just get myself within sniffing-distance of Angelina Jolie, all will be right with the world.