Sunday, July 19, 2009


In the tango jungle, one finds many a strange and exotic species. There is one peculiar creature that migrates to the southern hemisphere from his native Italy at least once a year to partake in the elaborate mating ritual that is the tango. There are many subspecies of this particular bicho that many females at the milonga have enjoyed studying up-close-and-personal, such as the sweet-smelling and physically attractive Tanus Hottius, but the Tanus Odiferous is probably the rarest of this group. I have only discovered two very closely-related subjects in existence in the past four and a half years.

Although the slightly bloated physique of the Tanus Odiferous suggests a more distant relation to the Tanus Hottius, our subject, like most in this family of exotica, shares the former's impressive terpsichorean abilities. And, unfortunately, that's where the similarities end.

The tragedy of his aromaticness marks a shocking contrast to his dancing, which pleases Her Divinity. In his less pungent, yet still smellificent state, I have enjoyed forays on the dance floor with him. Of course, after these occasions, my consort ordered me to perform a ritual cleansing before joining him in bed, but it was worth the price of admission for a great tanda. However, a few nights ago in El Beso, the Tanus Odiferous was particularly pungent. And when I write, "pungent," I mean he raised the bar on stinky, elevated reeking to an art form, broke all olfactory boundaries. El Macho summed it up succinctly: El mal olor se pudrio (The stinkiness rotted.). It was a heady, complex bouquet of rotting meat, sweaty feet, rotten eggs, musty clothes, kitchen grease, and Roquefort dating back to the French Revolution. Dude. Was. Ripe.

As he made his way around the perimeter of the room with his most unfortunate partner, both men and women turned their heads away in disgust. In her beneficence, the TG was feeling mighty sorry for him watching people's reactions. She thought, “What gives, O, Putrid One? Dost thou not know that thy powerful odor rises to the heavens, and offends greatly both mortal and divine alike?” In the midst of her reverie, El Macho dared look at her straight in the eyes and warned her: "If you dance with him, I swear I will book you a room in a hotel because you'll just end up polluting the house with his smell. It'll take forever to clear out."

Dag. Harsh.

I'd like to say that my own Italiano was exaggerating, but, if anyone knows about olores, it's him. He reveled in his own barely tolerable odors when we first started knockin' boots. But love (and lots of pleading and nagging on my part) changes you, and now he's a normal daily showerer. The point is that with his Italian schnoz, he can pick up scents like a dog, embarrassing scents I don't dare mention here. So, as he walked toward me to dance, it took him a millisecond before he grabbed my hand and stepped a full 2 yards away from Tanus Odiferous, his eyes wide in wonder as he whispered, "Lo sentis?"

Yes, doll, TG did, and in her infinite wisdom, decided against sullying her outfit with Mr. Odiferous' mortal stench.