"Each time my husband returns to Pittsburgh from Mexico, I tell him he has that exquisite pueblo smell. It lingers on him for days. I cringe pointing this out: It seems a detail that belongs in the short story of a 19-year-old who has just spent a semester abroad — he smelled of wood smoke, leather and pine as he spun me around — but it is true. He grabs me and pulls me to him, takes a sensuous whiff of my hair: 'Mmmmm,” he says. 'You smell like Target.'"
Read more at The New York Times.
