Karma. Bitch. Yup.

This morning M and I had a conversation that involved whether or not he should wear cologne. He used to wear cologne, in college. He smelled gooood, ladies. And then, once we became an official item, he stopped wearing it. Forever. "I don't have anyone to impress," he'd say with a smile. In fact, he said those very words again this morning.

Having cleaned out my drawers and closet yesterday, I found his old bottle of cologne. That's what kickstarted the conversation. I tried, unsuccessfully, to convince him to wear it again. "You don't have to wear Drakkar Noir. We can find you something else. You know, something...current." He declined, again with his charming smile and quiet persistence that since he's no longer on the market, he doesn't need to impress anyone.

He went off to Home Depot (railroad ties!) and I started on his side of the closet. Which is when it happened.

I dropped a 20-year-old bottle of Drakkar Noir in our closet.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

This is reminiscent of the guy in high school who doused himself in cologne between every class, until the day he dropped the bottle and shattered it and damn near caused a hazmat crisis in the sophomore hall.

Needless to say, I no longer want my husband to wear cologne. Maybe because we're both gonna smell like we're wearing it for the next couple years.

Long live Drakkar Noir.