Smells Good in Cuba

After the Christmas crush, hubby and I hit an outlet mall with some holiday cash. We were in search of new fragrances to accessorize the new year.

Quang especially needed a new cologne. He had drained all his bottles dry, including an aerosol can of musk-scented Axe Body Spray.

This can has been kicking around our bathroom for more than a year and it's been empty most of that time. Each time Quang picks it up and tries to eek out a drop or two, he ends up breathing naughty words about how he thought he'd already thrown the can away. Then he promptly turns and dumps it in the trash.

And I go fish it out of the garbage and put it back under the bathroom sink.

It's not that I'm trying to play tricks on him, it's just that I have a soft spot in my heart for that cheap can of body spray.

He bought it in Uruguay, in the town of Punta del Este, and I remember that morning well. After two months budget backpacking in Latin America, he was obsessed with the idea that all his personal belongings stunk -- his shoes, his clothes, his bag. He was desperate to mask what he thought was an obvious odor, hence the body spray.

For the rest of our trip, which spanned six months, whenever he broke out that aerosol can I'd sniff deep and say, "Ummm. It smells like Uruguay."

On our recent trip to the outlet mall, however, I admitted the Axe body spray was good and gone and that it was time to move on.

Quang chose a couple new smells, one which I pushed him to buy: Cuba.

It was packaged in a brown bottle with a gold seal to look like a cigar. I particuarily liked the fact that the "Cuban cigar" was stamped with a picture of Benjamin Franklin.

"Let me guess, you think it should be a picture of Che," Quang said.

"Che would have been more appropriate than Benjamin Franklin," I said. "Actually, I think they should have put Jose Marti on the seal." Jose Marti is Cuba's most beloved poet.

The Cuba cologne was priced really cheap. So cheap, in fact, that we both figured it probably didn't smell very good. Nonetheless, I argued, Quang needed to own it.

When you buy a new perfume, you never really know if you're going to end up liking it or not. Those trial squirts in the store never do much besides stuff up your nose.

Now that a couple weeks have passed and we've had time to adjust to the individual ways that a cologne sinks under the skin, wouldn't you know it...we both prefer Cuba to the other bottles he brought home.