Over the Labor Day weekend, I went home and colored my hair with henna. I don't know what possessed me. While my hair aspires to be a dark brown, it is actually black and therefore immutable. But on the other hand, what did I have to lose?
I had forgotten (somehow) that henna smells ... less than pleasant. Kind of like grass or hay, but also kind of like dirt. Really fresh dirt from some verdant, misty Himalayan hillside - but dirt nonetheless. That's OK, I thought to myself. It'll go away once I wash my hair again.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Instead, I find myself with still-black hair and the persistent smell of henna, which refreshes itself every time I shower. This is what comes of trying to be more Indian.
In other odoriferous news, Wistar went on a trip north and came back with her own horror stories.
Wistar: *pointing to the drain in the stairwell of a parking garage* This is what all of New York smells like. Urine.
Me: Thank you, that was ... vivid.
And just because I can't leave a list at just two, I'll throw in the kitchen sink.
Mike: *sniff, sniff* When be the last times you did your dishes, mofo?
Me: *in a chilly tone* That's ... really none of your business, Michael.