does the d&g come with an oxygen tank on the side?


Dolce & Gabbana, Calvin Klein, Beckham, Versace, DKNY, Vivienne Westwood, Givenchy, Hugo Boss, Ralph Lauren, Jean Paul Gaultier, Yves Saint Laurent, Gucci, Lagerfeld, Issey Miyake, Bulgari, Armani, Chanel, Chanel, bloody Chanel.

Do I really want to smell like you?

I will be the first to admit that it is true, my olfactory sensory neurons are quiet sensitive little things. Yes, they are as attuned to their environment as Punxsutawney Phil is keen on the seasons. And today, like there was still six more weeks of a cold winter ahead, they too wanted to burrow back down into the olfactory epithelium into the sung warmth and shelter of my nasal cavity.

I will also have to claim responsibility for this episode. Normally I drag my sad and sorry arse to the gym in the mornings, to avoid the great unwashed who frequent this place in the evenings. But, as I have been addicted making this site all pretty and homely for you people without a word of gratitude, I was somewhat delayed and today entered just before the post-work rush came through.

I was there, striding along on the treadmill, running my heart out as Janet Jackson was calling for a beat as part of her Rhythm Nation. I am known in certain circles as someone who has a tendency to perspire. In days gone by in a particular cabaret show, I was dubbed one of the Human Sprinklers. Yes, those triple turns at the end of a series of dance routines saw my personal body fluids spray into the air, breaking the droughts. On these occasions I choose to wear Rexona Deodorant for Men Sensitive, that is fragrance free. Sensitive, kind to the nostrils, undetectable by others. I’m a walking ad campaign for these people. [All sponsorship deals most graciously accepted!]

So Janet’s there, looking for a better way of life … I’m there, running and sweating as only I know how … when a rotund-esque gentleman of the Mr Humphries persuasion took the treadmill next to me. This in it’s own fashion is not an issue. Not until the air-conditioning kicks and gusts an ill wind down pass my neighbour and heading towards my direction. Said Mr Humphries had clearly decided that marinating himself in a trough of Dolce & Gabbana was clearly the most ideal way of attracting himself a Young Mr Grace.

After a couple of minutes, my olfactory neurons decided that this was just too much to bear and decided that should I choose to stay there and bare Mr Humphries’ need to cover up his personal stink, that they would pack up and go home.

Knowing the consequences of this I promptly moved to the other end of running machines to breath some fresh air.

More of the great unwashed decided to work off their burritos from lunch, so they just kept coming and coming.

A lean and lithe Miss Brahms took to another vacant treadmill in my vicinity. But it seems that I could not win. I guess I would have been pleased if it was at least Yardley, but hardly. An Impulse fragrance at best, available at all good leading supermarkets. No doubt a two for one deal.

The neurons decided to pull up stumps, and they were off. I feared the worse, and then it started. You see the little neurons know … and they are often colluding with the lungs. As soon as these scents made their way down my windpipe and into my lungs, my whole respiratory system went into red alert. Suddenly it was bronchial hyper-responsiveness all round. Asthma was beginning to set in.

So in a spat that would make Christian Bale ask me to take a valium, I unplugged my headphones and left the great unwashed to the wallow in their own cheap knock-offs of designer fragrance.

This hypersensitivity to fragrance has always been an issue. There are some shops, for example Lush or Crabtree & Evelyn, that I will have to leave within about ten seconds of entering the premises before an asthma attack occurs. The nose starts to get inflamed and the eyes start to water. That’s the sign to get out quick.

So the next time you decide to pick up a bottle of your favourite eau de toilette and spray so much on that people think that you have a necrotised flesh smell about you that needs covering up, just remember the innocent victims of your gluttonous behviour.

That is all.


14 thoughts on “does the d&g come with an oxygen tank on the side?

    1. I see your compassion knows no bounds. Along with fragrances setting off the asthma, can I introduce you to my evil little friends known as “pollen”?

  1. AMEN!!!!!! I don’t think people should be bale to smell you standing more then 30 CM away! Best blog post ever! There use to be these stores all over where you could mix your own scent, I could never walk by this shop without getting the worst migraines.

    Vlad doesn’t understand the breathing problems…It can be quite bad in LA when hiking you’ll see when you come. You’ll be wheezing just walking up a hill trying to keep up. Then choking on those guys who drizzle it on after making sure to fix their hair and pick the perfect outfit to hike in.

  2. You don’t have to do running in a park or forest or else where, where you can bump into your evil friend “pollen”. I am sure there is a desert in Australia

    1. And kangaroos wander the streets, drop bears will kill you within a hundred paces, and we tork real good like.

      Let me see what quaint little stereotypes I can think of about Russia? But you don’t want to hear them because you are clearly drunk on Vodka and don’t have a job.


    1. It’s usually more about the scent in bulk, rather than the individual product. Unless of course you fill your tub up with the stuff and bathe in it like Cleopatra. Otherwise, I would prefer to see you with silky smooth hands sans the paper thin skin and liver spots and skin that flakes all over the place like dandruff.

    1. Ahh Dave, if only people lived in our world of common sense and personal hygiene. What a true utopia they would find.

  3. Wouldn’t it still not matter because if they failed to wash themselves I’m guessing they also failed to wash their clothes…

  4. You mean I shouldn’t bathe in fragrance like Cleopatra. What???! My mother has failed to impart important knowledge.

    I kinda like a little tiny bit of pit stink on a man. Not the kind that knocks you over, but the kind that is just barely there, but you can smell it when you snuggle up with your nose in his pit.

    Should I seek help?

    1. Oh Samantha, here in lies the tragic world of high literature and blogging. Words can be so misinterpreted. I honour you for your rhino-pheromonic persuasions. I bow down to your base human instincts of Darwinian survival.

      And you let me use big words. *burp*

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