Let’s face it. Lavender smells soapy. Whether this is because so many people put lavender in soap or people put lavender in soap because it smelled like it belonged there, I leave for science to figure out.
But I cut some lavender this morning so I could dry it for the Professor, who claims she’s coming back someday.
And I can still smell it, very faintly on my skin, hours later. The soap smell has faded and all that’s left is this faint thick dark smell, like, if you met a man who smelled like that, you’d be unable to resist him.
I should start opening up my lavender for men who’d like to sleep curled around it on Thursday nights so that, by the time they go out on Friday, they smell irresistible.
Then I could mount a webcam and sell internet access to the livestream to appeal to people who have a fetish for men who sleep curled around lavender, which, as sure as I’ve typed it here, must be a real thing in the world. Imagine them, people of the internet, bare and sleepy in my front bed, the hairs on their chests and thighs wrapping slightly around the woody parts of the lavender, one arm curled under their heads for pillows, the other draped in the plant. They wake, wet from dew, to the buzzing of the early bees.
The most highly prized of them all would be the gentleman who slept nearest the steps. His hair would always smell like rosemary and, when you pulled his shirt off him, you’ll find the small scratches of the new rose on his back.