Unexpected Cologne

Cologne, Germany is one of my favorite places. It could be that the biggest proportion of people with my maiden name come from that area.  (Yes, I did hear your collective gasps as you read that I, the academic feminist did actually change my name.  Get over it.)  I love visiting that city in the heart of west Germany and have been lucky enough to go a couple of times.  Both of my trips to Cologne, Germany were rather off the cuff, and I had a great time both times.  The first time I went with my friend Susan, and we drank all the locals and backpackers under the table.  It was fun.  The second time I went with Andy and we met up with a friend to celebrate Christopher Street Day there!  I talked German Politics with a man all night who ended up kissing me full on the mouth in front of the oldest gay bar in Cologne, every homosexual in 100 Km radius, and my husband who was too distracted to notice.  That city is crazy!

More recently back in the states, I've encountered some unexpected cologne of a different sort.  There is a guy who goes to my gym.  I don't know how he is always there when I am there, but he always is.  He also always happens to end up on a treadmill in my general vicinity.  Normally this would not be a problem, except for the ridiculous amount of unexpected cologne that this guy wears.  It makes me gag every. time.  Please, men and women of the gym, stop with the cologne and perfume!  I know the gym doesn't smell the best, but I would much prefer to smell sweat than than the unholy and disgusting mix of sweat, Old Spice, Chanel no 5, and Cool Water or whatever the cool kids are wearing this year.

Lastly, I recently went to Home Depot to get a key made.  The girl who made the key for me actually admitted to going to the tanning bed, which I completely forgot anyone did anymore ever.  The young man who checked me out at the end, who was also quite tanned for January in Indiana I might add, had surely taken a shower with in his cologne.  I almost hurled right there, but did the whole breathe-through-my-mouth-thing until I got outside.

People of the world, please please for the love of my stomach, remember that a little bit of Cologne goes a long long way.  You get great stories out of it that way too.  And for the record: never once was I gagged by cologne in Cologne.    

Here's a lovely shot of Andy & I in Cologne in 2005 before kids.