Scents in the night.

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Oh, well, the way my memory works, when I remember some things, I remember more than mere pictures and ideas.  Olfactory, textural, and other things can be recalled.  I can all but step through a portal back in time, sometimes.  Actually... I think in some cases that is just about exactly what happens.  Rarer these days, and mostly just... certain areas of my memory, much more lightly than before.  Still, tonight, I am sensing something on the air but nothing that goes with it.  Perhaps the scent is simply, somehow, nearby... or my nose is confusing one thing with another.  But this odor is rather particular.  Lipstick.

That aroma has... very specific connotations.  It was when my woman, of the time, was signaling her... interest.  At the very least it meant she wanted to be seen and appreciated.  Most of my loves did not wear makeup as a daily thing, other than lightly, and rarely lipstick.  Lipstick quite often meant she wanted my masculine... attention... in a more specific way, or would be seeking that sometime in the evening, for her own wants and needs.  I don't think she always understood her motives, but I certainly learned to know them.  Cues.  Initially, those were so subtle, or seemed that way to my male mind.  In time, with experience around women, though, those little things added up so quickly and strongly that... it was impossible to miss.  As with knowing when fruit is ready, once learned it is impossible to miss, even with other women, and now.

Which means that the scent is... distracting me.  Normally, at a certain level of sudoku, I can hit the mid-90%, on the first round, easily, almost automatically.  Actually, since the odor seemed to present, my numbers have taken a major hit.  I was only, and just barely, able to hit 80%.  I don't know about the early games, as I didn't initially realize I was being distracted.  Toss in a waft of perfume, and the clickety clack of high heels, and, until I could place it and... manage it...  Not sure I could make it through a game without messing up.  That distractability made it so that when a woman wants my undivided attention, she can get it.  Can't focus around some things, or I can't, not well.  Might as well call it a day and go tend the queen.  Not a bad thing at all, mind you.  Oh yeah.  We were made to... pay attention to things.  I am sure, over time, those cues have been different.  But, for my generation, or in my world, those were the things.  They at least cued that something might be... possible, and easily.

Gah!  Where is the vinegar?  That might... fix that.  Ammonia if that fails.  If it's just, truly, a memory?  I'm stuck.  Hey, I'm celibate, not dead!  Mostly.  Gah!

Later.