smells like awkward neighbor

In the last few years, I've discovered that my ability to create awkward conversation is only surpassed by my ability to create irrational worst-case scenarios. (Tyler doesn't pick up my call? Gahhhh that means he's being attacked by ninjas in the produce aisle of Dominick's! Not because he's driving and is trying to be safe. Obviously.) But today's post is about the former.

I walked home after an intense Zumba class this morning because, as it turns out, the Y is like 3 blocks from my apartment. Who knew? Anyway, so the way my apartment building is set up, there are two sets of doors to get in. The first set opens to a teeny foyer so you don't have to wait out in the rain/snow while waiting to get buzzed in through the second set of glass doors. After you get through the second set of doors, there's a very narrow square of carpet where exactly two people (or one person in a puffy coat) can stand, and then immediately beyond that is the stairs. So basically, the entryway is very tight.

I was standing in the foyer, and before I put in my building key, I noticed that it smelled all perfume-y and beautiful. I'd noticed the fragrance before on one or two other occasions, and have not been able to figure out what it is/who wears it, but it smells amazing. Some of you may know a thing or two about my Great Fragrance Searches, and some of you have even generously donated your time/dignity to tromp through department stores with me, and then patiently letting me spritz, and then smell, your wrists, forearms and elbows to help me figure out what perfume I'm trying to find. (Thanks Sunnyyyyy, you're the besttttt.)

So I'm there, breathing deeply and trying to memorize/place the scent. After maybe 3 or 4 minutes, I decide that I've got the scent sufficiently locked into my olfactory memory bank. I turn to put my key in the door and am startled to see that there's a guy on the other side, waiting for me to get out of the way so he can exit the building.

What I should've said was: nothing. I should've just smiled and walked past him, not saying a word about my weird fragrance obsession.

This is what I said instead: "I'm standing out here because someone's perfume smells so good and I'm trying to figure out what it is! I've smelled it before, though! Ha! I'm not crazy! Ha!"

"Oh," the guy said, and then gave me one of those indulgent smiles that you give either very small children ("Your daughter says she wants to be a ladybug when she grows up") or mischievous elderly people ("Grandpa just mooned the neighbors again"). He squeezed by me and left me alone, wondering how I could never quite manage to keep myself from word-vomiting.

So that neighborly encounter didn't go as well as it should have, but whatever. I had more things to worry about, like how I was going to make it up 3 flights of stairs to my apartment with legs that felt heavy, squashy wheels of cheese. (Very slowly, as it turns out, was the way to go.)