Smells Like Irony

I'm pretty sure I don't have to describe the madhouse I encountered when I went to Walmart yesterday. Because unless you're reading this from an igloo somewhere or from a tent in the middle of the Gobi Desert, you're probably familiar with the typical pre-holiday shopping crowds. This is both bad and good: like everyone else, I get irritated with the wandering throngs of people. But I also love to people-watch, and more people means more opportunity to spot something funny.*

*And by "funny" I mean something you'd laugh about, not "funny" like your Uncle Jerry whose porcelain doll collection is overtaking his guest room.

Anyway, in such a crowd, I always feel like I'm in somebody's way - and yesterday was no exception. As I rounded the end of an aisle, I almost ran into a huge man. I mean, dude was built like an ox. An ox made of, like, steel. He was wearing a red flannel shirt, dirt-stained jeans, and rugged work boots. A scraggly beard darkened his chin, and his square jaw bristled with stubble. Right behind him was another, equally burly guy, similarly dressed. I couldn't smell them, but I'm pretty sure they smelled like wood smoke. And concrete. And chainsaws.

I quickly sidestepped out of their bulldozer-like path and went on my way, but as I walked away I couldn't help but overhear their conversation.

"They've come out with an apple-cinnamon now, but I still like the citrus-scented better," one of them said gruffly.

"Really?" the other replied. "I don't care for my house to smell like oranges."

It dawned on me that, yeah, they were indeed heading down the scented candle and air freshener aisle.

Febreze scented candle: $5
Hearing two big, burly dudes discussing their home fragrance preferences: priceless.