They say men and women pick up scents differently. How I wish I did. Why, you ask?

I know I am quite tall, but that doesn't mean you can't see the burnt pompadour that now looks more like the saggy cushion of a second-hand love seat that you would refuse to take home. No one set fire to my hair, but they might as well have. She, might as well have.

And, this is what happened. Last morning, she and I were on our way to work, our bus snaking its way through the traffic.

Sniff, we turned and looked at each other at the same time - not uncommon when you are like us. Barely a minute had passed since the driver stopped sounding the horn when we smelt something, as our ears had been freed - very essential to have a sense of smell.

'How can people even think of...' she started off and I, the ever uncouth, interrupted.

'Yeah. Scant regard for the rest of us. I don't know why people carry such toxic substances to work.' I was livid.

'You're going a little overboard by calling it toxic. I know the smell is overwhelming, but you don't have to call it toxic. That's mean.' She was being unduly considerate to someone else and I was in no mood to forgive.

'Stench, not smell. And pungent, for God's sake not just overwhelming,' I shrugged. 'I don't know when you'll learn to call a spade a spade and leave with the carpenter that which must be left with him.' I didn't know if I had to chide my friend for her taking matters too lightly, or the one that had brought the infernal concoction along, threatening to debilitate everyone in the bus.

'That's a catchy phrase. Where did you pick it up?' she said, wide eyed and curious. 

'I made it up as we spoke,' I said, elated that she had finally said something good about me after ages.

'Oh! You're so smart. Especially the carpenter part. Does it have some inner meaning? Some metaphysical implication?' she sounded keen, very keen.

I am not someone that exaggerates even when needed. I told her what I meant when I made that statement. And here I am, a day later with burnt hair, or the equivalent of that. Are you asking me what I said?

'No implication. Why would anyone carry turpentine to work? Might as well leave it with the carpenter so he can put it to good use.'

Her face turned crimson in a flash. She said she trusted well and fully that we both smelt nail polish remover and that's why we turned to look at each other at the very same moment. Apparently that's how it works between smitten people.

The moment I uttered the word 'turpentine', she felt betrayed and said I stabbed her in the back when she least expected it. "Where is our telepathy? Is this even working?" she said and walked away without waiting for me, after emptying the bottle of nail polish remover that she had on my head, even as I was busy trying to save myself from becoming Molten-Head.

I understand she is disappointed. But what was the point in dousing my head to express annoyance? It still smells like turpentine. And, she says we are done.

Sniff!!! Why? Why? I even said I will change my name to Quinten Turpentino.