My nose for news was working overtime at 7th and Montana this morning, thanks to the arrival of a mysterious stranger wearing an even more mysterious perfume. Kathy was the first to notice it, and she wasted no time trying to identify its source. "You smell sweet," she said to Robin, who was standing nearby. Sweet was an understatement. It was the floral equivalent of a caramel-coated, sugar-frosted fudge ball. "It's not me," Robin whispered, "It's him." Sure enough, the smell was emanating from a man standing at the condiments bar. It followed him out the door like a cotton candy miasma. I don't know where this guy gets his fashion advice, but someone should tell him it's time to change the Chanel ...!
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