Like those corduroy knee patches on my favorite fifth-grade jeans?
Or Portland raindrops spattering coffee in a recycled-paper cup.
How about a faded Pine tree freshener dangling from the radio knob of an RV.
A tuna-noodle casserole in Corning Ware cooling on a Formica countertop?
Maybe a not-so-easy-to-identify scent: Dr. Pepper? Mountain Dew?
I’m kinda hoping for the Burt Reynolds Cosmo spread: Seedy chest-hair musk.
Much better than the doomed Faberge Farrah Fawcett shampoo.
Or summer camp: mosquito repellent, pond scum, crafting with corn husks.
Could he mean organic honey? Or sprouts? Quinoa? Brown rice?
Cereal box cardboard? The cellophane protecting a decoder ring inside?
It had better not be Cheez Whiz. Fluffernutter. Or that strange blue Italian Ice.
I’d rather the waft of a wet Polaroid while attempting to wave it dry.
He might be thinking macramé, bean bags, shag carpeting.
A butterscotch-plaid sofa set. Or its sticky plastic covering?
Rabbit fur jackets. Sun-bleached cowboy boots. Powder-blue velveteen.
Or maybe he smells Shrinky Dinks fresh out of an Easy-Bake Oven.
“Yeah,” he says. “So trippy. Lemme take another whiff.”
“Uh, okay,” I say. “The 70’s? Go ahead—scratch and sniff.”
I had forgotten that Polaroid smell. Thanks for the memories.
Thanks for reading, Corey. I hope they were good memories. best, Michael
Interesting article, thanks for the info. I believe that you need to be very careful on such trips and watch your safety. By the way, I saw that people who climb very high mountains leave behind mountains of garbage. And it worries me very much. Considering the overall pollution of the planet, this isn’t good.