2003.12.13 Saturday

Okay so. This is super oddly specific but I can 100% see this happening. At Wammy's.

For his 12th birthday (2001), Mello got this gigantic bottle of sketchy Slavic aftershave from his dad. The kind of gift that screams emotionally unavailable father energy. The bottle's huge, ornate, and weirdly fancy—heavy glass with a weird embossed pattern and a dusty plastic cap, looks like it belongs in a Balkan grandma’s medicine cabinet. Mello’s dad never visits, just mails stuff every year with a card that says “Sretan rođendan, sine” ("Happy Birthday, my son") and zero context. The bottle just ends up sitting wherever Mello keeps his shower/hygiene stuff (they both probably use the same space), collecting dust for two years.

Mello, annoyed by Matt’s shower-avoidance streak, basically forces him into hygiene.

Matt grabs the aftershave, assumes it’s shampoo (because a) it’s a bottle, b) he can’t read Croatian, and c) logic is for losers), and dumps the whole thing on himself. His thought process? “It burns like hell — that means it’s working.”

The stench is so overwhelming that the bathroom is unusable for a week. Like, multiple people complain. Windows are opened. Someone says it smells like a mafia boss died in there.

And then, of course, Mello’s mom Ivanka visits. Because it’s his birthday, and her showing up is inevitable. She greets Matt, gives him a hug, and mentions him smelling good and it reminds her of Nikola (Mello’s dad. Who she hasn’t seen in years. And who apparently douses himself in this war-crime of a cologne.)

And the whole vibe instantly shifts. She’s definitely not doing anything sketchy, but the energy is weirdly sensual. Like an accidental emotional affair happening in real time. Maybe she even touches Matt’s arm while reminiscing, and Matt just freezes, horrified. The entire room is steeped in ick.

Once she’s out the door, Mello explodes.

“You FUCKER, YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE, DIDN’T YOU?!”

“EXCUSE ME???”

Massive argument. Shouting.

“JUST BECAUSE YOU DON’T HAVE A MOM DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN JUST THROW YOURSELF AT MINE.”

“‘THROW YOURSELF’??? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU IMPLYING DUDE???”

It escalates. Mello punches first.

Mello would never admit it out loud, but deep down he’s in that mindset of: I hate my mom, but that doesn’t mean anyone else can have her either.

They’re not speaking for days afterward. They sit at different tables, avoid eye contact, say “nothing” whenever someone asks what’s up.

Eventually, Mello comes crawling back with a bad conscience.

“Hey man… I overreacted. Sorry. I mean—seriously, no one in their right mind would want to smell like my dad. We cool again?”