Thoughts on bad smells in the office and good-feeling weddings--

So sick of perfume as thick as peanut butter that folds me in its wake as I follow H. up the stairs.

Wrapped in a shroud of her sticky imitation scents I sit at my desk and breath through my shirt until the taste of her aroma fades. I was stuck behind her hips. They were swinging and throwing her skirt from side-to-side, nylons whispering together each step of the way. Such a slap compared to the morning. I had showered and walked wet-headed in the sun that brightening late summer flowers.

A butterfly tumbled on the breezes with paper wings and magic, hovering near purple blooms. Hostas opened droopy petals with aromas of faint honey, unlike fake scents from a supermarket can.

Looking at pictures…A bride dances in pearls at a war veterans hall beside pool sticks on the wall. Her groom gazes and a young girl with frosted hair wipes her eyes while the wedding song plays. Beautiful memories set their first stitches in their hearts.

The wedding party poses outside, squinting in sunlight and smiling as new in-laws watch out a window. I love them all -- laughing in sunshine on the lawn as traffic pulls its indifferent drivers along with their tepid coffee curdling in cup holders, mean hangovers pounding on another Saturday afternoon of errands and regrets for last Friday night -- oblivious to the happiness at the veterans hall, the yard dressed up with white veils and rose petals before an awning where promises and grasping hands mingled. With wedding rings and tears in their eyes the bride and groom were starting something new.