sixteen again

On Sundays we go over to my mother-in-law's house for dinner. Last night, on our way out the door, she handed Sam a box of Drakkar Noir. I have no idea where she got it but she thought that maybe he could use it. I snatched it out of his hands, opened it up and spritzed some in the air. As I wafted it towards my nose, I was taken back to highschool. Walking down the hall in the early morning and passing by a guy who just smelled so good. Or sitting behind a boy at the movies. Or sliding into a guy's car. I had no particular guy to attach it to. It just smelled like sixteen.
And then Sam said, "Huh, smells like Frank.*" Frank is one of Sam's highschool acquaintances and not one of my favorite ones. And just like that I remembered all of the things I didn't like about boys when I was sixteen. Those raging hormones coupled with that astonishing amount of immaturity. The inability to see past a girl's body. The inability to maintain eye contact through a conversation. The inability to have a conversation. 
Suddenly that Drakkar Noir smelled more like annoyance and frustration and hurt.  And those aren't words that I associate with Sam.  I don't want him to smell like memories of a time when he wasn't part of my life. And I definitely don't want him to smell like Frank. So the Drakkar Noir will have to go. Maybe we can find a sixteen year old boy to give it to.

*Not his real name.

photo by lloydjumpay  http://www.flickr.com/photos/lloydjumpay/2811249080/