Once someone sent me this awful love letter that was meant to be erotic but it was just raunchy. He dowsed it with a sickening cologne that he mistakenly believed would arouse a woman, so the paper stunk as badly as the prose.
I still have it years later—in a closet in a sealed plastic bag to contain the stench. I can't just throw it in the garbage because I don't even want trash pickers knowing I was the object of this person's desire. And I don't have anywhere to burn it safely. I would like to shred it but then my shredder will smell like the letter and forever remind me of how much I absolutely hated that cologne, and how no number of subtle hints and frank suggestions could get him to stop using it.
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