I sat down and ordered two bottles – one to drink and one to bust. I wasn’t planning to fight; they just didn’t have toothpicks at this restaurant. (And not that the Morrison Man needs a weapon other than his mits, which, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, qualify as “Prime.”) It was a bistro in Tucuman, Argentina. I was here to meet a woman who’d slipped a note under the door of my suite. She said she knew I was here because I’d shown up on her phone’s NORAD app.
I was sitting there thinking about how I might attach a cowcatcher to my Wrangler for when I drive through the next Bonnaroo festival, when she walked in.
She had on a red dress with black swirls, with a figure that would make an hourglass pass on dessert.
She walked up to me. “Beautiful,” she said, stroking my boleodoras (It’s a traditional gaucho weapon I bought as a souvenir, so get your mind out of the gutter.)
She dragged me onto the dance floor. Now normally the Morrison Man doesn’t dance. But the nice thing about making your own rules is that there’s always an exception.
Suddenly she howled and took a swing at me. I caught her fist in the air and thrust her arm out to the left, while pulling her in close with my other hand. Then I whipped the boleodoras off my belt and swung them at one of the rose bushes. I aimed for a full rose with Freudian petals. The sucker popped off like a champagne cork. I caught it between my teeth and then looked at my señorita.
She stared into my eyes. “Why is it that I want to kill you but can’t resist you?”
I told her it may have something to do with the fact that whenever there’s pure desire in the air, my lungs convert it to bear musk. Of course, I said this after pulling the rose through my teeth and spitting the thorns off to the side.
We danced the tango in the moonlight. After that, she offered to teach me some Quechuan dialects, if you know what I mean.
I created my Pomegranate Noir soap with her in mind. It’s a deep red, swirled with activated charcoal. There’s the scent of pomegranate, which has the aroma of a sweet señorita with fists of fury, and there are undertones of orange, vanilla, and cinnamon – warm scents to heat the night.
You’re living your philosophy. Now wash like it.