Last week, while perusing the selection of deodorants at the local Mart of Wal, I discovered that Secret comes in a lovely French Vanilla flavor. Since I'm not one for the girly smells and baby powder smell should be outlawed on anyone between the ages of 2 and 80, I figured, "What the hell? Let's try it."
Now, I don't want to shatter anyone's dainty image of me, but when I'm at work, I sweat. (Something about running my ass off for 12 hours.) Well, with my new deodorant, when I sweat, I'm enveloped in a pleasant cloud of French Vanilla.
Anyhoo, at about 0300 last night, I was involved in the workup of a nursing home patient that came in for AMS. (Altered Mental Status, for those of you non-medical-acromym-using types.) After cleaning off the layers of poo that could be read like tree rings, and putting in the Foley that diagnosed her AMS with its butterscotch pudding-like appearance, we got to work trying to get an IV in her horrendously sucky veins.
As I was blowing my second attempt in her thumb while someone else was blowing veins on the other side, (no, I didn't get it. Bragging rights belonged to him last night) all of a sudden the LOL opened her eyes and said, "Oooh, something smells gooood!"
I laughed and said, "That would be me." ( I was mostly joking; I always say that.)
She said, "No, it smells like something I want to eat! Like... like..... donuts!"
At that point I laughed even harder, because I realized she really was talking about me.
She closed her eyes and drifted back into her happy place while we poked holes in her upper extremities, and after another 10 or 15 minutes, when we were finally almost done, she opens up her eyes again and says, "I sure wish I could have a bite of whatever it is that smells so good!"
I wonder if she would have said that if she had known it was my armpits?