Monday, December 03, 2012


The other evening, at a place where many cigars and a single pipe were being smoked, a nice young lady (whom I found out later was significantly over forty years of age) asked whether the smell would still be in her hair the next morning. She had spent well over an hour in our company, and as a non-smoker she was keenly aware of our various heady perfumes.
Nicaraguan, Honduran, Arturo Fuente, and Padron.
Plus, of course, aged red Virginia flake, by Rattray.

Regretfully I informed her yes.
Yes, these various assertive reeks will stick around you, and tomorrow morning your colleagues will probably think that you spent the entire day watching football with the boys.
But there is hope! Wash your hair!
Argan oil shampoo is gentle enough that you can use it daily, OR wait two or three days in between. Whichever methodology you choose, it will leave your tresses supple and vibrant.
Silky and soft to the touch.

What I did not tell her was that we always smell faintly like the people of whom we are fond. In her case, gentlemen with 'mature' tastes in tobacco products.

Supposing, for instance, that you spent time around me, you would end up whiffing ever so slightly of small Dutch cigarillos and fine English flakes or Oriental mixtures. And if you were my ever-so-hypothetical ideal female companion, I would carry a hint of crisp green apples, summer fields, and jessamine or honeysuckle with me wherever I went.
You might want to wash as soon as you got home, alas, whereas I would be sorely tempted to not shower for three or four days.
Hmmmm, the fragrance of a library!

I should mention that jasmine tea brushed through the hair neutralizes odours, AND adds shine. The slight acid content of semi-green teas softens the hair considerably.
I always have jasmine tea in the house.

They do not have it, customarily, at places where many cigars are smoked.
Nor will I suggest it to them. There are just some secrets that must be kept.

Besides, they would probably give me queer looks if I ever brought it up. Not suspecting a hair-connotation, they would doubt my sanity. Real men, apparently, enjoy big cheroots and hard liquour only. Not pipes with subtle virginias, or refined warm caffeinated beverages.
Feh, they would say.

If one day you smell something delicately autumnal, with just the faintest hint of jasmine following, that could be me. I might be talking a long walk around the streets of Nob Hill and Telegraph, enjoying time away from the big butch cigar bunch.
As well as their various strong beverages.
And obsessions with sports.

Feel free to talk to me. I am more thoughtful than them.
And quite likely to offer you a cup of tea.

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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

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