Scratch an sniff

One Tuesday morning, she decided to combine the two.
Marge shuffled through the food court wearing her usual knee-high socks, orthopedic sneakers, and a pair of denim shorts that had seen more history than the library. On the back of those shorts—right on the pocket—was a giant neon sticker that read:
SCRATCH & SNIFF
Now, people noticed.
A teenage boy squinted.
A woman dropped her pretzel.
A mall cop slowly removed his sunglasses like he was in a dramatic movie scene.
Every time someone stared too long, Marge would glance over her shoulder and say, completely deadpan:
“Go on. That’s what it’s there for.”
Silence. Absolute silence.
Finally, a brave middle-aged guy from the candle kiosk cleared his throat.
“Uh… ma’am? Is that… real?”
Marge smiled. A knowing smile.
“Only one way to find out, sweetheart.”
He hesitated like he was defusing a bomb, gently scratched the sticker… leaned in… sniffed…
And instantly relaxed.
“Wait,” he said. “That smells like… lavender?”
Marge nodded proudly.
“Seasonal. Last week was cinnamon apple. The arthritis prefers floral.”
Word spread FAST.
Within minutes, people were lining up like it was a weird new mall attraction. One guy asked if there were refunds. A lady asked if there were gluten-free options. Someone tried to scan it with their phone.
Then the mall manager rushed over, red-faced and panicking.
“Ma’am, you cannot do this here.”
Marge sighed, peeled the sticker off, and handed it to him.
“Fine. But for the record? You’re canceling the best thing that’s happened to this mall since Orange Julius.”
She walked away, victorious, muttering,
“Next week I’m trying eucalyptus.”
And somewhere deep in the mall, a janitor whispered,
“…I kinda miss her already.”

male, rap, trap