Ack. I was all excited to check out Sheddy's over the weekend and partake in the bar's grand opening celebration, which was to include two-for-one wine and $3 beer. No such luck. The opening has been pushed back again. The sign on the window says the English-style neighborhood bar will now open April 1—an April Fool's joke perhaps—and the opening party will go down April 4 and 5. Cheap drinks: here I come.

—Alexandra Le Tellier

I just wanted green tea.

I was waiting in a colossal line in a bustling Asian market, tea in hand, on Good Friday. Family after family hovered at the back counter near an exasperated fishmonger manning a vat of oil, which bubbled up with whole fish. Apparently, if you're looking to obtain a cardboard tray of fried fish—heads on—the Friday before Easter is a popular time for this.

The line for the cash register shuffled forward slowly, the atmosphere was thick with airborn fish fat and it wasn't until I left with my tea that it occurred to me: "I have to be somewhere in 20 minutes, and I smell like cod."

I did what any human with an olfactory sense and a diminishing level of shame would do: I went home, and I Fabreezed myself.

I stood in my kitchen in front of an open cabinet of Pine Sol and oven cleaner, Fabreeze in hand, and gave it a few tentative pumps. A wet mist of chemically springtime freshness settled on my face.

Did it work? It worked like magic. It was 100% effective in making me smell like your aunt's linen closet, which in this case was a welcome advancement.

I raced over to All Star Lanes to join a throng of comrades at the adjacent dive bar, where a spasmatic karaoke dance party was in full swing.  I then bowled a personal best of 119. Was it luck? Chance? No, it was confidence. A confidence born of Fabreezing my head.

Shamelessly yours, 

 

 
Miss Alie Ward