Natasha Knows Scents Facebook ad: “Secret to Unstoppable Attraction”

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In 31 years of marriage, my husband had never once volunteered for the parking ministry. In August. In Memphis. So when Harold started leaving the house at 8:15 on Sunday mornings to stand in a reflective vest directing Buicks in 94-degree heat, I knew something was wrong. Let me explain. I know how this sounds. A 57-year-old church woman suspicious of her own deacon husband because he wanted to serve the Lord in the parking lot. Stay with me. My name is Gloria. I've been on the usher board at Greater New Hope for 22 years. White gloves. Navy suit. Third aisle, left side. I know where everybody sits. I know who sleeps during the sermon and who leaves before the offering. I know which deacon keeps butterscotch in his jacket and which mother of the church keeps a flask in her purse. I know whose marriage is in trouble before the pastor does, because I watch where people sit, and people always tell on themselves with where they sit. Harold is a deacon. 26 years. Harold sits on the deacon bench, second from the left, like he has since 1998. Harold does not like change. Harold has eaten the same breakfast — 2 eggs, wheat toast, no butter — every day of our marriage. Except in July, Harold moved to the 3rd row. Choir side. • • • I didn't say anything at first. 31 years teaches you to collect evidence before you open your mouth. So I collected. Week 1, he moved to the 3rd row. Told me the deacon bench was "hard on his back." Harold's back has been fine since 1994. Week 2, he started humming during the choir selections. Alto. Harold is a baritone. Harold has been a baritone since the Carter administration. Week 3, the parking ministry. Left the house at 8:15. Came home with his collar soaked through. Said he "felt called." Week 4, I stood at the vestibule door and watched the lot. Lot B. 9:40. A silver Camry pulled in, and Harold waved it — personally, both arms — into the one shade spot under the magnolia. The spot he's saved for Mother Ellison every Sunday for 11 years. Mother Ellison parked in the sun that day. She's 88. Out of the Camry stepped Sister Renée. • • • Renée is 43. She joined the choir at Easter. Divorced. 2 boys. Teaches nursing at the community college. Pretty in a way that doesn't try, which is the worst kind. Every woman over 50 at Greater New Hope had already formed an opinion about Renée by Pentecost. Mostly about her walk. I had not. I'm an usher. I seat everybody the same. Until Lot B. • • • I called my best friend Pat that night. Pat and I have been on the usher board together since 2003. Pat is the only person alive who knows I don't actually like sweet potato pie. "Pat. Have you noticed anything about Harold?" Long pause. "Gloria. You're not crazy. Half the men in that church walk slower behind that woman. My Leon included. Leon started bringing her bottled water at rehearsal. Leon doesn't bring ME bottled water." "So it's not just Harold." "It's not just Harold. But Harold's the only one waving cars." "What do I do?" "Honestly? Go ask her." "Ask her what? 'Are you after my husband?'" "No. Ask her what she's wearing." • • • I didn't sleep that night. I lay next to Harold and listened to him snore and built a plan. For 3 weeks, I watched Renée. Not the way the other women watched her. The way an usher watches. I learned 3 things. One. She wasn't doing anything. She didn't flirt. She didn't sit near the men. She came in, she sang, she left. She didn't even know which one Harold was until week 2 of the parking thing — I saw her ask somebody. Two. It wasn't just men. Little Mrs. Pruitt, 79, leaned toward her in the hallway like a plant toward a window. A teenage usher-in-training asked her what she had on. The church secretary hugged her twice in one Sunday. Three. When she walked past the end of my aisle, I smelled it myself. Jasmine. Something bright and peppery. And underneath, warm, like the inside of a wooden jewelry box. And I thought: when was the last time anybody turned their head when I walked by? I couldn't remember. • • • Sunday after service, I found Renée in the fellowship hall kitchen, up to her elbows in the macaroni pans. Nobody makes the new choir member wash the macaroni pans. Those are the worst pans. They have to soak. She'd volunteered. I picked up a dish towel and stood next to her. We dried 3 pans in silence. "Sister Renée. What are you wearing?" She laughed. Not a mean laugh. A tired one. "Ms. Gloria, half this church has been sniffing behind me since Easter. Your husband directs my car like he's landing a plane." I didn't laugh. She saw my face and put the pan down. "Oh. Oh, Ms. Gloria. No." "I've been watching for 3 weeks." "Ms. Gloria, look at me. I am not studying Deacon Harold. I promise you that on everything I have. I'm not studying anybody in this building. I got 2 boys, a full-time job, and I'm still paying for my divorce. I come here to sing and go home." I believed her. You can't usher for 22 years without knowing when somebody's telling the truth. "Then why is my husband standing in a parking lot in August?" She dried her hands. Thought about it. "Can I be honest with you?" "That's all I'm asking." "I don't think he's chasing me. I think he's chasing a smell. And I think he doesn't even know it." Then she reached in her purse and put a little brown bottle in my palm. "It's an oil," she said. "Take it. It came buy one get one, I got another one at home." So I stood in the fellowship hall kitchen holding the thing I'd been ready to fight her over. 10 seconds I stood there. Then I put it in my purse. • • • I'll be honest with you, because I'm too old not to be. I hadn't stopped wearing perfume because I let myself go. I stopped because it stopped working. I had a bottle from the department store. $185. The young lady at the counter sprayed my wrist and it was beautiful the whole walk to the car. I wore it to church every Sunday for a year. By the benediction, it was gone. I could put my nose right on my arm and get nothing. I tried another one. $140. Same thing. I tried one of those body mists from the mall. Gone before the announcements. So I stopped. Why spend money on something that leaves before you do? I thought it was me. I thought maybe it was my skin. I thought that's just what happens after 50 — you get quieter, you smell like soap, and that's your portion. I didn't let myself go. I just stopped fighting something I thought I'd lost. • • • That night Renée called me. I'd given her my number "for usher business." "Ms. Gloria. You put it on yet?" "Not yet." "Let me tell you why yours didn't work. Can I?" "Go ahead." "Them department store bottles are mostly alcohol. 60, 70, sometimes 80 percent. Turn yours over — alcohol denat., first thing on the list. It makes a big cloud at the counter for 2 minutes. That's how they sell it. Then it evaporates and takes the good part with it." "So I wasted $185." "Here's the other half. Our skin gets drier after 40. Less natural oil, every year. And once that alcohol's gone, the spray's got nothing left to hold on to. Nothing. On a 25-year-old, there's oil on the skin to catch it. On us? It just slides right off." "So it IS my age." "It's your age and it's their bottle. They built that thing for a 25-year-old's skin and let you think you were the problem. You were never the problem." I sat on the edge of my bed after she hung up. 4 years I'd been smelling like nothing, thinking I'd faded. I hadn't faded. I'd been sold the wrong thing. • • • Day 1. The next Sunday, 7:30 in the morning. 3 drops. Both wrists and the side of my neck. First it was bright — pink pepper, blackcurrant, something that woke me up better than the coffee. Then jasmine. Soft. Like a porch at night in June. I ushered the 8 o'clock service. I ushered the 11. At the 11, during the offering, Harold walked down the aisle with his envelope, passed my station, and stopped. He put his envelope in the plate. Then he put it in again. Same envelope. Already in there. He had to fish it back out with 2 fingers while Deacon Moore held the plate and tried not to laugh. The whole 3rd row saw it. After service, Harold did not go to the parking lot. Harold walked straight to me, took my elbow, and drove me home the long way — down by the river — with the windows up and the air off. In August. He didn't say one word the whole drive. He just kept breathing. Day 4. Harold fixed the garbage disposal that's been broken since March. Without being asked. On a Wednesday. Week 2. Harold asked me to Red Lobster on a Tuesday. We have not been to Red Lobster on a Tuesday since our 20th anniversary. Week 4. Harold reached for my hand watching the evening news. Just reached over and took it, like it was nothing. Harold has not reached for my hand since 2009. I know, because 2009 is the year I stopped expecting him to. And here's what I noticed. By 9 o'clock at night, the rose and the peony had gone warm, and there was amber underneath everything. I'd put it on at 7:30 that morning. It was deeper at night than it was at noon. That's never happened to me in my life. • • • The next week, in the receiving line, our First Lady took both my hands, leaned in, and said: "Sister Gloria. What is that?" 22 years on that usher board. First Lady has never asked me anything except where the extra programs were. The Tuesday after, a girl at Kroger — 22 years old, nails done, did not need to be nice to me — scanned my tomatoes and said, "Ma'am, you smell expensive." $29. I told Pat. Pat said, "$29? Gloria. My bottle was $210." "And how long does yours last?" Pat didn't answer that. Pat ordered that night. • • • And then the thing I didn't expect. Week 5, after rehearsal, Renée found me in the hallway. "Ms. Gloria. Can I ask you something? What are YOU wearing? It smells different on you. Warmer." I laughed so loud Deacon Moore looked out of the office. "Baby," I said, "you know exactly what I'm wearing." "I know. But on you it's different. It's like it found where it belongs." • • • There are 2 ways this goes for you, sister. You keep doing what I was doing. You keep smelling like soap, telling yourself that's your portion now, and watching your husband walk slower behind somebody else and blaming her. Or you find out it was never you. It was the bottle. GODA says it's pheromone-infused. I can't stand up in a church and tell you it makes anybody want you. Maybe it's that. Maybe it's that I stopped walking through my own house like furniture. Renée said it best, drying macaroni pans: "This ain't perfume, baby. This is a reset button." • • • Pat, 61: "Leon asked me if I got my hair done. My hair is the same hair. Ordered 2." Sister Odette, church secretary, 49: "I sit at a desk 30 hours a week. The new youth pastor asked what I had on. I told him Jesus and a little help." My daughter Kendra, 34: "Mama sent me one. A woman at the gas station stopped me at 10 in the morning to ask what it was. 10 in the MORNING." • • • GODA For Her. Pheromone-infused oil. Jasmine, blackcurrant, pink pepper → peony, rose → amber. 2–3 drops. 12 hours. No alcohol. 4,900 reviews. 4.8★. $29. Buy one, get one. One-time purchase. No subscription. Real refund. I bought 2 more. One lives in my church purse now, next to the peppermints. Harold went back to the deacon bench. Second from the left. He looks at the usher station the whole sermon. The Lord sees you just fine. It's the deacons who need help. P.S. Renée and I sit together at choir rehearsal now. She's not my rival. She's my supplier. P.S.S. Mother Ellison got her shade spot back. P.S.S.S. It's an oil, so put it on skin, not your good white blouse. It soaks in in about a minute. My usher gloves have never had a mark on them. P.S.S.S.S. If it doesn't smell like you, send it back inside 30 days. No monthly charges, no games. I checked. P.S.S.S.S.S. Harold quit the parking ministry. He says he's been called to the hospitality committee. The hospitality committee meets in our kitchen.

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goda.co

Secret to Unstoppable Attraction 🤫

Discover "Goda For Her," a captivating pheromone fragrance designed to enhance attraction. This 100% vegan, cruelty-free scent blends seamlessly with your natural aroma, ensuring long-lasting wear. Backed by a 30-day money-back guarantee, it's a safe and effective choice for boosting confidence and....