Olfactory overload
I'm a relatively sensitive person, both in that "cries-when-they-throw-Michael-Keaton-a-circus" sense of the word, as well as in the winces-when-hearing-a-loud-noise, smells-a-cucumber-a-mile-away kind of way.
And I love how cucumbers smell, and taste, which is one of those areas in which the Smelmooo and I are polar opposites, because he'd rather die than be near our kitchen when I'm peeling a cucumber, which I sometimes just eat whole, which I guess is a bit gluttonous.
Anyway, my uber-sensitive nose is a true blessing when it comes to cucumbers, and my mom's apple crisp, and pizza from Roberto's, and the fresh herbs we had all last summer when we did the farm share thing with Gina. And then, of course, I curse my nose when it comes to everything else -- taxicabs in the summer, leftovers left in the fridge even 5 minutes too long, flatulent colleagues, our house after Tucker's been left alone for too long, cigarette smoke five houses down the street. "Dear God, what is that SMELL?!" comes out of my mouth entirely more often than I'd like.
So as I said, this week I'm in D.C., staying in this incredibly swanky room...some might even call it..ahem..."Heavenly." That's the rumor, anyway. So yesterday morning, I hopped into the shower and opened up the "Heavenly Shampoo" and...DEAR GOD, what is that smell? Eucalyptus? Eeesh. It was not heavenly, or soothing, or clean-smelling, or anything. It nearly knocked me over. But then last night, out of desperation, I used the same stuff in the Heavenly Jacuzzi (because seriously? Heavenly Bed my ASS; I woke up with the back of a 70-year-old coal miner yesterday morning), as there was no Heavenly Bath Gel to speak of. And somehow, in that context, it did the trick, and it did relax me, even though in the back of my mind I kept thinking that, even though I'd cleaned it out, that I must just be lying in filth, because people are disgusting. Perhaps more worrisome was the possibility that I still smelled, but that I'd gotten used to it, like the people on Survivor (go, Ian!), who think they're like a bouquet of roses until their loved ones show up and tell them they stink, literally.
Minnams is similarly cursed/blessed with an overly acute sense of smell, and we occasionally commiserate over stinkiness in the workplace. A couple of months ago, she decided that she could sum me up with three adjectives, two of which were "hilarious" and "odorless -- both of which the Smelmooo vehemently disputes. I forget the third, but the Odorless one is really the highest compliment one could ask of someone like Minnams or me. So thank you, even if it's only who I really am on my best days.
On a totally unrelated note, my crush on Orlando has officially ended -- if it hadn't before -- as a result of that incredibly girly cover shot of him on Rolling Stone. Yick.
And I love how cucumbers smell, and taste, which is one of those areas in which the Smelmooo and I are polar opposites, because he'd rather die than be near our kitchen when I'm peeling a cucumber, which I sometimes just eat whole, which I guess is a bit gluttonous.
Anyway, my uber-sensitive nose is a true blessing when it comes to cucumbers, and my mom's apple crisp, and pizza from Roberto's, and the fresh herbs we had all last summer when we did the farm share thing with Gina. And then, of course, I curse my nose when it comes to everything else -- taxicabs in the summer, leftovers left in the fridge even 5 minutes too long, flatulent colleagues, our house after Tucker's been left alone for too long, cigarette smoke five houses down the street. "Dear God, what is that SMELL?!" comes out of my mouth entirely more often than I'd like.
So as I said, this week I'm in D.C., staying in this incredibly swanky room...some might even call it..ahem..."Heavenly." That's the rumor, anyway. So yesterday morning, I hopped into the shower and opened up the "Heavenly Shampoo" and...DEAR GOD, what is that smell? Eucalyptus? Eeesh. It was not heavenly, or soothing, or clean-smelling, or anything. It nearly knocked me over. But then last night, out of desperation, I used the same stuff in the Heavenly Jacuzzi (because seriously? Heavenly Bed my ASS; I woke up with the back of a 70-year-old coal miner yesterday morning), as there was no Heavenly Bath Gel to speak of. And somehow, in that context, it did the trick, and it did relax me, even though in the back of my mind I kept thinking that, even though I'd cleaned it out, that I must just be lying in filth, because people are disgusting. Perhaps more worrisome was the possibility that I still smelled, but that I'd gotten used to it, like the people on Survivor (go, Ian!), who think they're like a bouquet of roses until their loved ones show up and tell them they stink, literally.
Minnams is similarly cursed/blessed with an overly acute sense of smell, and we occasionally commiserate over stinkiness in the workplace. A couple of months ago, she decided that she could sum me up with three adjectives, two of which were "hilarious" and "odorless -- both of which the Smelmooo vehemently disputes. I forget the third, but the Odorless one is really the highest compliment one could ask of someone like Minnams or me. So thank you, even if it's only who I really am on my best days.
On a totally unrelated note, my crush on Orlando has officially ended -- if it hadn't before -- as a result of that incredibly girly cover shot of him on Rolling Stone. Yick.
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