Can I take your odor?

Sorry for the delay in new posts, dear reader. I have been unwell due to the unrelenting assault on my sinuses. You may assume, logically, that I'm referring to pollen. Nope. Pollen is a natural part of our world, a nuisance to be sure, but something your senses can cope with. I'm talking about people. Smelly, smelly people. Old ladies specifically. For some reason I seem to be the preferred server for dried up old widows that have marinated in Sweet Honesty perfume their entire lives. I have the nose of a bloodhound and this is my personal Hell. I'm not a princess type- I can handle skunk spray, dead possums and Port-a-Potties cooking in the summer sun. But I would rather breathe in the crusty fallout wafting from the patchouli scented dreadlocks of a whole horde of Umphreys McGee fans than endure one more woman that smells like the entire staff of the Moonlight Bunny Ranch. One thing you will notice about these old biddies is that they are never accompanied by men. FACT. They are always eating with other women, usually other not quite as old ladies who are mysteriously immune to their +5 crippling eau de parfum attack. How, you may ask? It's simple: just like in the horror stories vampires always have a Renfield, a human that does their bidding but is unaffected by their creepy magic, these fragrant she-ghouls have human sidekicks. They are apprentices who have sold their souls to Mary Kay in order to learn the Dark Secrets of the Sisterhood. I have noticed that the Smelly Ones always eat very little, usually soup and a whole mess of crackers. That's because they don't get their sustenance from food. They get it from the bodies of their many dead husbands, whose dessicated carcasses swing  lazily from the rafters in the attic amongst  piles of old  romance novels and dusty Nativity ornaments.

Don't forget the crackers.