Stink, Stank, Stunk

Connie Corleone: “You think you know your husband? You know how many men he had killed! Read the papers. Read the papers! That's your husband!”

Michael Corleone takes Connie into his arms, but she goes wild again and tries to attack him.

Michael: “Take her upstairs. Get her a doctor.”

Michael's bodyguards grab Connie and pull her out of the office.

Michael to Kay: “She's hysterical.”

- The Godfather

            For 25 years, Brian has been my guy. Last week, he uttered four words that no woman ever wants to hear. He came home from work, nuzzled my neck, and said, “You smell like Vito.”

            I immediately dialed 1-800-CALLSAM to start divorce proceedings.

             “It’s not like you smell bad,” he said. “Vito smells nice … for a dog.”

            “And The Grinch smells nice,” I said “ … for a Christmas-stealing monster.”

            I take matters of personal hygiene very seriously. I grabbed a Brillo pad from beneath the sink in order to scrub off the top three layers of my dog-saturated skin.

            “Leave me …” I said on my way to the shower. “ … to my shame.”

            He grabbed my arm. “Here, let me smell your neck again,” he said. “I was probably wrong …”

            He inhaled.  “Now I don’t smell it at all, he said. “You smell like a flower … a super flower.”

            “A flower infested with stink bugs,” I said.           

            “I was probably just smelling the real Vito,” he said. “Like, his smell is in the house.”

            “You can smell Vito in the house?” I screamed. I had aunts who vacuumed their front lawns, for heaven’s sake, and now my house smells like a kennel! During the rest of the evening, Brian removed all sharp objects from our home.

            The next day, two of my best friends from college had read about Vito’s antics, and they wanted to visit him. I gave them a minute to meet the dog, and then I asked them something that you can only ask very old friends.

            “Does anything stink?”

             Marie’s a lawyer, very smart. She was not going to admit to something that could be used against her later, in a court of law. “My nose is congested,” she said. “I can’t smell a thing.”

            But Judy is a consultant who gets paid big bucks to tell hospital execs the hard truth.  She’s an expert at serving it straight. She lifted her refined nose and sniffed.

             “I smell a hint of urine,” she said

            “Urine!” I screamed. When she saw my knees buckle, she said to open a window. That should take care of it, she said.

             I invited Judy and Marie into the family room, followed them, and stepped in a puddle of Vito pee. Then as Judy suggested, I flung the kitchen window open, and myself through it.