Smells Opaque to Me

While at a friend's home last weekend, I caught the unmistakably acrid scent of one of those ubiquitous Yankee candles. Following my nose to the restroom, I discovered the culprit: Midnight Pomegranate. Although it smelled (unlit, mind you) more like an Old West whorehouse than the sublime Persian fruit, it wasn't the olfactory assault that I found most offensive. It was the adjective. What, I ask you, would have been different about Noon or even Brunch Pomegranate?

Yes, yes...I'm well aware that our fine candle manufacturers are selling romance and emotion, not merely aroma. But allow me to list some other puzzling candle (oh, excuse me -- "aromatherapy") names. Find the romance in these:

* Fall Festival -- Ah, yes. The heady blend of cheap, oily carnival rides, junk food and human sweat (these torture marathons are typically run at the end of Summer).

* Ocean Water -- I can almost taste the salt and dead plankton now.

* Farmhouse Apple -- There's a reason apples are sprayed and processed before getting to your supermarket shelves: to purge the farmhouse manure.

* Velvet Petals -- Velvet? I'm sure you'd agree that nothing smells quite as delicious as tufted fabric in which the cut threads are evenly distributed in a short, dense pile.

* Beach Walk -- Essence of sunburn, grit and chafing.

* Vanilla Lime -- Sweet bean plus tart citrus? Not since Roosevelt and Stalin has there been a less comfortable alliance.

* Wedding Day -- What exactly is the smell of broken dreams and deferred hope?