We've relaxed since getting here, having put down our daily lives on the floor next to our bags and picking up something simpler. We've flitted from restaurant to restaurant, snagging wings here, Chinese there.This afternoon, we went gifting, bringing Patrick along for the plan of getting him a birthday shirt. A simple plan, a dress shirt; help Patrick finally find a dress shirt he liked that actually fit, buy it for him and wish him a happy birthday.

But plans made are not always plans executed, and a 20x38 shirt was not to be found in the style of his liking, so I asked him for a second choice and he said, "Cologne." We headed to the men's fragrance department and the man behind the counter began lining up freshly-sprayed sheets of paper. We interspersed our sniffings of cologne with coffee beans, and watched as Patrick determined that his scent should be a simple, clean one.

It sounded so familiar; it was the same choice that Jeff made some time ago, when seeking a new scent of his own. They are very much different, my husband and this friend of mine, but they do share occasional flashes of similarity that make me laugh. It's as if there is a central repository of geekboy DNA that was drawn from to create the bases of their personalities.

We finished earlier than expected, and I indulged my growing fascination with perfumery by asking questions, resulting in my being pointed to scents I'd never heard of before. One in particular caught my attention, its lush (and almost edible) simplicity making me want to wallow in it.

Or, as Patrick noted, he and Jeff knew I was interested "because your invisible tail started to thump audibly."

I sprayed the fragrance on after my shower, reveling in the relative olfactory calm it produced. My preferences tend toward older, more complex perfumes; I hold great love for French classics like Cuir de Russie and Mitsouko.

The occasion? Watching improv comedy. We sat, Jeff and I, comped through the first performance but choosing to stay (and pay) for the second because we loved it, laughing out loud and relaxing against each other as the night went on. Comfort. Simplicity. No phones, no pressing deadlines, no code, just us a little dressed up and snickering until my laughs smudged my mascara against my lower eyelids.

While I am flirtatious with a few friends, Jeff and I are not the demonstrative sort. Our cues are easily missed if you don't know what to look for. From our cats, twinned halves of a whole, we've picked up the habit of nonverbal echolocation:

"Rowr?"
"Rowr."

—and there it is, the answer to the question: we know the other is there, and is listening. In the end, that's all we really want to know.

On the way back from the theatre we relived some of the better moments of the night, especially savoring the silly suggestions of mine that got incorporated into the show, and agreed that it had been an excellent day. When we climbed out of the car I marveled at the silvery sharpness of the moonlight, crisp and bright enough to cast midnight shadows, and as I concentrated for a moment I could smell the faintest cloud of scent still clinging to my skin.

"Wow. Look at that," I said. After locking up the car, Jeff looked up and nodded agreement.

I watched my feet lay silent black footprints on the Florida grass and thought to myself while walking in, yes indeed, Hanae Mori's "Magical Moon" was indeed the perfect perfume for the day—simple, calm, sweet, and clean—and I might just have to hunt up a tiny vial of it just so that in future days, I could jump back and at least smell the calm beauty of this day, even if I could not relive it.