One day, he asked me:Roscoe: “What yer fay-vor-it cologne, Tiĉ-a-Knee?
What youu want your man to smell like?”Tiffany: “Clean, Roscoe. I want him to smell clean.”Roscoe: “You like Old Spice? You like Brut? You like
Cool Water? Cool Water smells clean?”Tiffany: “I don’t know if I like that, I don’t even know
what that stuff smells like. As long as he smells clean. I
like my man to smell clean. My boyfriend’s cologne is
pretty good.”At the time, I was dating Titus, and he worked in the
airport. In fact, he was part of the same department that
Roscoe worked for, but for a diĉerent airline. I told Roscoe
this, and he said:
Roscoe: “Okay, I go see yer boy-fren. I goin’ smell him,
I goin’ find out what’chu like.”I didn’t think about that weird-ass statement until about
two months later, when I was going through the breakup
with Titus. He had lost his job at the airport, and we were
having serious problems, and Roscoe came up to me and
said:
Roscoe: “Tiĉ-a-Knee, why youuu got a damn man who