I have a great nose — not the structure but the function. I can smell things that are best left un-smelled. Lucky me.
This skill was inherited from my mother who could tell where I was from my smell. You couldn’t pull anything over on my Mom. She made James Bond look like an amateur sleuth.
The smell thing happened again last week. My clothes stunk (as Dr. Seuss would say, stink, stank, stunk!). I could smell it but the beloved husband couldn’t. He ruined his nose with smoking decades ago and it never reset when he quit.
On the other hand I have the dog’s sense of smell. (One that can’t smell too good). I can detect odor anywhere, not rabbit poop but close.
Odors get to me. I’m not talking about stinky people odors although those get to me too. Nor am I talking about sweet cat odors (but not the litter box ones).
I am talking about those damn odors you pick up when you are out in public places. I avoid perfume spritzers although an occasional “test application” can mask “sweaty people smell,” mine included.
There are leather smells in shoe stores even though very little leather is used. The smell is brought in for effect like those bakeries that exhaust onto the sidewalk so you can’t resist buying their buns.
Paper smells are in book stores. This is a good smell especially when there is a little café in the corner with a coffee smell.
Roasting nuts are the best!
I should be in the book of world records but I’m off track.
Back to my clothes. We ate in a restaurant where I always pick up the smells. I wear clothes that are on their last wearing before the laundry. I would try “no clothes” but even I think that would be disgusting. (Do nudists carry around a towel to sit on? If so where do they keep it? Just asking…)
Some fabrics pick odors up more than others but they all pick up cooking odors. I love garlic and onions, just not in my hair or my bra.
Coming home I put the top in the laundry along with ALL the underwear. The jeans were clean so I thought I could get a day’s wearing out of them.
I spent the next day in a grease coma. It had to be the pants. The coat was aired out.
Howard Hughes had weird towards the end of his life. He was a germ phobic (check) and paranoid of illness (check) and didn’t like people (check).
Except for billions of dollars and a genius at inventions we had a lot in common.