Dating shirt

I was finally living the dystopian rom-com I’d always dreamed of.And meanwhile, something strange had occurred: The mere act of signing up for Smell Dating resulted in my romantic life taking off — in the real world, that is — as though entering the experiment had been the equivalent of shooting my pheromones into the universe.They just smelled like day-old t-shirts that could stand to be washed, or in a pinch, worn again.Maybe I had spent too much time around sweaty runners, or my acuity to scent was declining with age. My organs of brain and heart had proved insufficient at finding a proper mate; now an unreliable sense of smell would doom me to a future of inept couplings.Two weeks later, I received my smell samples in the mail, each baggie labeled with a donor’s number.Sitting down with a notebook, eager to record my impressions, I worked my way through them with a growing sense of dismay: none of the swatches greatly attracted or repelled me.I tore the package open as soon as it arrived in the mail, plastic baggies scattering across the table like the aftermath of a drug buy.Instead of illicit substances, they contained swatches cut from the underarms of t-shirts.

Being willing to smell the armpits of strangers’ t-shirts was like kissing a frog — somehow the spell had been broken; I was finally dating in the 21st century.I did join a running group, hoping to meet someone in real life before resorting to marketing myself on the Internet.This only succeeded in leaving me chafed and winded, but at least my mile times were rapidly dropping.Meanwhile, I would be receiving my own scent swatches from strangers to sniff and report back on.If matched with someone, Smell Dating would notify us both with contact details.

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