Dear Ethel,

Maybe it’s quarantine, or maybe I’m just finally coming to my senses. I won’t beat around the bush: My boyfriend smells absolutely horrendous. I can’t really describe it, but it’s almost…tangy? I don’t know, it’s just awful. I’ve tried dropping hints, but nothing seems to stick. I don’t want to be mean and tell him to his face, but at this point, it is bringing me physical pain. What do I do, Ethel?

My nose thanks you,

Pee-ew Pamela

Pee-ew Pamela,

Come to your “scentses,” you have! This is no foreign problem to me. Remember back in the day before there was plumbing? Yes, a trying time it was, and it certainly didn’t help that my beau at the time was the guy in charge of scraping off the moat. However, loyal as I am, I stood by my man, no matter how it hurt my schnoz. Day and night I would stuff mustard seed up my nostrils to quell his musk. When my sinuses finally collapsed, I decided enough was enough. I sat my fella down, and I told him, “darling, you smell!” He gave me a half-smile and replied, “I know, dear, we all do.” The poor soul was always too literal! I realized I could never get through to him through traditional means, and I am expecting the same with your lover. I thought long and hard, and finally, Eureka! I remembered that my love was best friends with the troll who resided under our neighborhood bridge. It was always “riddle me this” and “riddle me that.” And thus, inspiration struck: The only way my betrothed would understand my needs was if it were posed in a puzzle of words! A limerick was my only option. I sat him down, looked him in the eyes and recited the rhyme I had spent days toiling away at. It was as if he had been struck by 1000 bushels of lavender after that day. And so, my swan, I shall offer to you the very lines that once saved both my heart and my nose: 

Eric, how unpleasant is your musk

That I shall wretch from dawn till dusk

I heave, I gag

I rush for a bag

And dream to stab you with a tusk.

He should get the message loud and clear.

You’re welcome,

Ethel