Seeking Professional Help

Bruce and I are close to hitting the two week mark, a milestone in any relationship, so before we take it any further, I need to answer the burning questions: Why can’t he smell me? Is his profile a little too perfect? And what’s the story behind that hideous orange shirt? We spent all day trying to figure out what was wrong with Bruce’s sense of smell. We began with my favorite hypnotherapist, Hans, who suspected that an early childhood trauma led to some form of olfactory overload, and his sense of smell had just shut down. Olfactory overload? Of course! After all, didn’t his mother, an aging actress who will remain nameless, regularly submerge herself in Eau de Old Lady? Sadly, after 2 hours of hypnosis, Hans was unable to undo the damage. Next was an aromatherapist, who pulled out the strongest essential oils in her arsenal to stimulate Bruce’s senses, and again, nothing worked. Bruce claimed he could smell the potent oils, but I think he was in denial. Still, the trip wasn’t a total waste, because Olga mixed up a batch of essential oils that are supposed to sharpen your sense of style. As my good deed for the week, I will sashay around town, secretly spilling some of the style potion on every fashion “don’t” I see. It’s my way of making the world a prettier place. Undaunted, I pressed on, dragging Bruce behind me. We went to the office of Camille, a French woman who practices some ancient form of French holistic medicine. She said that Bruce’s chakras were blocked, and after some acupuncture and ayurveda, pronounced him healed. But alas, nothing had changed, and I had a feeling that Camille was a little clueless. I consider myself an authority on the French language, because I read so many perfume bottles and my entire skincare routine is from a French company, and I know that words like “chakra” and “ayurveda” are not French at all. Obviously, they’re Russian. Anyway, we ended up at the office of my daddy’s friend, Dr. Walt, who specializes in ears, noses, and throats. (Dr. Walt is credited with helping Whitney regain her voice after those unfortunate shouting incidences on her husband’s reality show). Anyway, one quick check-up and Dr. Walt assured me that, much to my dismay, nothing was wrong with Bruce’s nose. Clearly, he was mistaken, but Dr. Walt stood behind the seventeen tests he had run. (I tried to convince him that feminine intuition was much more accurate than any test he could run, but he remained unmoved. I’ll have to tell Daddy not to recommend him so highly in the future). So, one long, dreary day has passed, and we are no closer to solving our relationship dilemma. As it is too late to shop, there is only one thing that could make me feel better: a slumber party…