How could I possibly be in Oslo without visiting the Henrik Ibsen Museum? We were about to be guided through the small home where Ibsen spent the last eleven years of his life, when a large group of school children arrived and the guide was obliged to lead them.
Fortunately, there was a young clerk who offered to lead Sharon and I through the museum. She was an attractive young lady, but one with a pronounced body odor. It was foul only for a moment until that robust smell transported me to a much earlier time.
It vividly brought to mind the memory of a most attractive youngish lady some 60 years earlier, when I was in Paris studying French. My instructor was the lithe, winsome, attractive Mlle. Cahier, she with the same compelling odor.
Until that moment, I had long forgotten about my fetching French instructor but the body odor in Oslo transported me to my youth and Mlle. Cahier. It was a most pleasant interlude.
[I always though “Cahier” was a very appropriate name for a teacher of French.]