When you and I finished making love and I smelled that fragrance around the bed, you made fun of me and insisted that it came from some kind of flower. You had a long string of Latin names for it, together with the information that it grows in Latin America. You should know now why your Latin made me so upset... My love for that smell has nothing to do with Latin or any other language. It is because of the many times yellow soybean meal kept me alive. To be honest, everywhere I make love with a woman I search for that smell... On the bed, the sofa, the lawn, the rug, in the woods, in the shower. Without it, I can't feel completely satisfied. Some women claim that it smells like shrimp, or others say fish or fermented milk, while Natalie compares it to the smell of the pipes in a cathedrals pipe organ. Whether the comparison is secular or saintly, common or divine, I disagree with them all. I pigheadedly protected my yellow soybean meal in the same way that I would a patent.
