I’m as blind as a bat. Have been for a long time. And what’s happened as a result of this handicap..is that I have a nose like a hound dog. My body has compensated. I guess it’s nature’s way of keeping me alive. If I can’t SEE the person putting poison in my lemonade, I sure as heck can smell it as I get ready to take a drink. It’s freakish. Trust me when I say, the nose knows. Well, at least mine does.
Everything has a smell. And within 2 seconds of smelling it, there’s this whole memory flashback that takes place in my brain. Someday when I die, I should really donate my body to science. Whole books could be written on the neural pathways that lead to my shnoz. I’d lay a bet on it.
My nose knows.
Do you use cheap shampoo? I can tell.
Are you a tree-hugger that doesn’t believe in traditional deodorant? Ummmhmmmm.This seems like an easy-no-brainer. It’s not. There’s stinky people who just don’t take their hygiene seriously..the number increasing rapidly as one gets closer to Wal-Mart.
But then there’s the folks that do shower, take care of themselves, and buy their shower gels and soaps online from Tom’s. They care about the environment, and apparently know something I don’t about the danger of rubbing antiperspirants on your armpits. P.S. If someone knows, please tell me. I could be talked out of using my old faithful, Secret in the Spring fresh scent. Maybe. I’m sceptical.
Are you a closet smoker? Pretty sure no one would ever guess that you light up at break time back behind the bushes? Contraire Monfrare. I know your secret. But I won’t tell.
Did you have oregano on your Panini for lunch today? I thought so.
You have a cat. AAAAAAAAAAchhhhOOOOOOOOO!!! (okay, this one’s kinda cheating, as I’m deathly allergic to cats; my throat starts to narrow to the size of a pencil point, and my eyes swell and close shut). But still.
The Nose Chronicles
One of the local churches lets different camps in our little town use their basement over the summer. Sunny is signed up for Safety Town. For 2 weeks he will learn about safety of all kinds, like biking and swimming and 911, and eat snacks, and flirt with the little teenage blonde-haired blue-eyed smiling assistant. (He’s a 5-year old Don Juan)
With Sunny’s hand in mine, we stepped across the threshold, and I was transported back to the small church I used to go to as a child for Vacation Bible School; a week-long event I looked forward to every summer. And to Miss Marion, who taught me to shine my little light, and how to make handprints in plaster of paris. She told me that Jesus Loves me, and left me with the impression that He was good at water skiing.
All those memories just because I could smell the damp, cool scent of the shiny cement floored basement, and the far off hint of strong coffee that church ladies always seem to be brewing. Old books. And perfume. But not any new varieties, the kind that older ladies wear. A floral, baby powder, Estee Lauder, heady fragrance.
Today I woke up early and stuck my head out the door as I watched the sun come up. It seems summer has arrived here in the Midwest. It’s been coming, slow and steady like a freight train. I don’t know what the guy on channel 4 predicts about our weather for the next few months, but we don’t need him.
I can tell you it will be hot, with lots of sunny, humid days. Good for swimming, boating, You and Me going fishin in the dark, lying on our backs and counting the stars, baseball and softball, backyard barbeques, picnics, lightning bugs, sand in my swimsuit, iced tea, homemade ice cream and evening strolls on crunchy gravel roads.
I’m sort of like that little groundhog. What’s his name. I crawled out of my 600 thread count egyptian sheets and smelled summer.
Baby, get ready.