I know I’ve said this before but I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love the smell of rosemary. I would be unable to remove myself from a man who smelled like that.
I was looking in my Materia Magica this morning, as I had planned to go out and collect clover, since it’s free and all in my neighbor’s yard, and I looked up “rosemary” and this is what it says:
Rosemary is widely thought to be a powerful guardian and to give power to women; therefore it is used by many people to ward off evil in the home and to bring good luck in family matters.
Instead, the Butcher and I went to look at cars and then the Professor and I went to look at cars. I have now looked at cars inside and out. I have looked at trunks and engines and leg room and arm room and listened to quiet and tried to listen for noise. I have lied and told truths and danced around when exactly I was going to settle down and decide to buy a car.
My hair smells like new car. I would rather my hair smell like rosemary. I would rather feel scratchy whisker burns all on my face.
I would rather sit around and share long slow kisses with a scruffy man who smelled like rosemary than buy a new car, or even a used one.
Here we live in a perfectly good capitalist society, or so the conservatives keep telling me, and yet, try as I might, I can find no service in the Yellow Pages like this.
I suppose it would have to be a two-man team. The older gentleman would go out and negotiate me a good deal while the younger gentleman and I sat on the couch making out.
I’m not even asking for cunnilingus, here folks. Just some slow, sweet smooches while someone else frets about the car.
Is that too much to ask?
(Don’t feel left out, gentlewomen. As soon as my lavender blooms, you and I will have a talk all about that. Hee hee.)