My husband had started smelling absolutely terrible, and no matter how often he showered, the odor wouldn’t go away.
At first, I thought it was his work clothes. Then I blamed his shoes, his gym bag, and even the laundry detergent. But nothing helped.
The smell was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was a strange combination of wet soil, rotten onions, and something that reminded me of an animal that had been dead for several days.
I tried to be gentle about it.
“Honey, have you noticed anything different about your body lately?”
He looked offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying something smells unusual.”
“I shower twice a day!”
And he wasn’t lying. I could hear the water running every morning and every evening. He changed his clothes regularly, used deodorant, and even started buying expensive body washes.
But the smell remained.
After nearly three weeks, I became genuinely worried. What if it was an infection? A hormonal problem? Something serious that we were overlooking?
I made him an appointment with a dermatologist and insisted on going with him.
He complained the entire drive.
“I don’t need a doctor. I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Then you’ll have nothing to worry about,” I replied.
At the clinic, the dermatologist asked a few questions before examining him. My husband went into the examination room, and the doctor closed the door.
I sat in the waiting area, scrolling through my phone.
Five minutes later, the door opened.
The doctor stepped out, his face bright red. He pressed his lips together, clearly struggling to control his laughter.
“Ma’am,” he said, “you might want to come in and see this for yourself.”
My stomach dropped.
“Doctor, what’s going on? Why are you laughing?”
Before he could answer, my husband appeared behind him.
His face was practically purple.
“Honey,” he muttered, avoiding my eyes. “I don’t know how to explain this, but I…”
The doctor finally lost his battle with laughter.
“Your husband doesn’t have a mysterious skin condition,” he said. “His skin is perfectly healthy. The smell is coming from something he’s been applying to himself.”
I looked at my husband.
“What have you been putting on your body?”
He sighed and reached into his jacket pocket.
Then he pulled out a small brown bottle.
I read the label.
EXTREME BUCK LURE — CONCENTRATED DEER ATTRACTANT.
I stared at him.
“Why on earth do you have deer attractant?”
He rubbed his forehead.
A few weeks earlier, he’d gone hunting with his brother. His brother had convinced him that a particular hunting scent was incredibly effective at attracting deer. My husband had bought a bottle, brought it home, and left it in the garage.
Then, one morning, he’d run out of his usual cologne.
Instead of going without, he’d grabbed the brown bottle.
He assumed it was some kind of strong outdoor musk fragrance.
He sprayed it on his neck, chest, and underarms.
And when the smell became overwhelming, he made things worse.
He started washing with scented soap, applying deodorant, and spraying even more of the supposed cologne to cover it up.
He had been doing this almost every day for nearly three weeks.
I covered my mouth.
“You’ve been spraying deer attractant on yourself?”
He nodded miserably.
“I thought it smelled like expensive cologne!”
The dermatologist was still smiling, but he explained that the product was designed for hunting, not human skin. He advised my husband to stop using it immediately, wash the affected areas thoroughly, and bring the product’s ingredient label to his pharmacist if he developed any irritation.
Then the doctor added, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think any deer will be following you into the city.”
I burst out laughing.
My husband looked at the floor.
On the drive home, he finally admitted that he’d been too embarrassed to tell me he’d made such a ridiculous mistake. He had convinced himself the smell would eventually disappear if he just showered enough.
That evening, he threw the bottle away, washed every shirt he’d worn, and cleaned out the bathroom cabinet.
The smell finally disappeared over the next couple of days.
I thought the whole incident was over until the following weekend.
My husband came into the kitchen holding a new bottle.
“Look,” he said proudly. “I bought actual cologne this time.”
I read the label carefully.
Then I turned it around and checked the ingredients.
He frowned.
“What?”
I smiled.
“Nothing, honey. I’m just making sure this one is meant for humans.”
He hasn’t lived that appointment down since.
And every time he gets ready to go somewhere, I still ask him the same question:
“Are you wearing cologne today, or are we attracting wildlife again?”
He hates that joke.
But honestly, after three weeks of smelling like a hunting supply store, I think I’ve earned it.
