Close your eyes and imagine that you live in a cabin in the woods, surrounded by towering pine trees and creeping wildflowers. You live with your handsome, bearded husband who built the cabin with his own two hands. You go inside holding a basket of vegetables that you just picked from the garden, and a wave of warmth embraces you. You take in the scene: dried herbs hanging from ceiling, shelves and shelves of all your favorite books, and your husband sitting by the fireplace. He had been outside chopping firewood, and his strong muscles are glistening with sweat in the light. He looks up at you warmly as you enter, and you see a smear of soot on his cheek from building the fire. He sits in his favorite rocking chair, smoking a pipe, and as he pulls you onto his lap you watch the tobacco smoke drift lazily towards the ceiling. You take a deep breath and it smells sweet, musky, and earthy. It smells like home.
Smells like a fine a$$ man just walked in from an upscale bar