I have a new air freshener in my car. I bought it at some checkout or other in one of those consumerist fogs that are no doubt brought on by the buy buy buy drugs they pump into the air handlers. Yes, those drugs, the ones originally invented by the CIA and rapidly coopted by various Marts - you know those drugs. They're the reason you end up coming home from the superstore with seven plastic boxes in various colors, three sets of nail trimmers and a bead curtain you will never hang up.
Ordinarily I scorn air fresheners - they give me headaches. This one, though, is shaped like a little flower and made of translucent orange flexible plasticy stuff; it said on the packaging that it sparkled in the sunlight so I was all, ooooh, yes, I need a sparkly orange flower that emits sweet aromas in my car, right now. Well. When the sunlight hits it it - looks like translucent flexible orange plastic in sunlight. Could you call that sparkling? Not really, but I would forgive the lack of glitter if it smelled okay. Unfortunately, what it smells like is a tangerine. And not just any tangerine but a tangerine that some child has partially peeled and hurled deep underneath the car seat, where it has been lurking for several weeks. Every time I get into the car I want to dive under the seats with rubber gloves and extract that goodie because believe me, whether you call it a rotting tangerine or a rotting clementine (let's all face it: clementines are tangerines in fancy boxes, okay?) I know that smell. I did not drive a mini van decorated with plastic dinosaurs, peanut butter and jelly sandwich crusts and eternal jelly beans throughout the nineties for nothing.
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