Tag Archives: smelling

The Nose Knows

When I saw a woman in front of me at the store the other day smell the packs of gum to help her decide which kind to buy, I felt like I found a new friend.

Why?

Because a majority of the decisions I make on a daily basis are at least partially the result of the “smell test.” My first instinct when given something—be it food, a puppy or even a candle specifically labeled “unscented”—is to smell it.

I’m just a “smelly” person.

But lucky for me—and especially lucky for YOU—the ladies over In The Powder Room accept my neurosis and even encourage it by publishing my post on this very topic.

So clear out those sinuses, click the link and go read about how if you see me spraying an air freshener in a store aisle and quickly sticking my nose in the mist, smelling a fake plant or subtly sniffing the cute guy in the produce aisle, there’s no reason to be alarmed.

smell

The nose knows, my friends.

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I Smell

A majority of the decisions I make on a daily basis are at least partially the result of the “smell test.” Maybe it’s because I have a big nose, but my first instinct when given something—be it food, a puppy or even a candle specifically labeled “unscented”—is to smell it.

I’m just a “smelly” person.

Example A: My bedroom dresser.

dresser1b

As you can see from candles and reed diffusers to lotions and perfumes, there are various vehicles for delightful scents (and a lovely shot of my bed in the background.)

Other rooms in my house have more subtle touches —a Glade Plug-In in the bathroom, a candle in the living room, room spray throughout, etc. Now before you go making assumptions, let me point out that I don’t stink and overcompensate for that fact with these things. I smell just fine, even delightful at times.

But I’m still a “smelly” person.

I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. When I was just a little one with issues, I had a white blanket  with fringe on the end and I would wrap a clump of the fringe around my little finger before pulling it off and smelling it while I sucked my thumb.

We apparently called this “Nonny Nose,” although I don’t remember that part and surely would have come up with something more clever had 3-year-old me been given the option.

But here’s where it gets interesting, as after the blanket, there was Bun.

bun1

Trust me. He did NOT start out looking like this.

Instead of bringing the fringe up to my nose when I sucked my thumb, it was his left ear—almost always the left one. Why? Because I slept on my right side—always facing the door in my room—and so his left ear was closest to me.

He slept on his back.

I can’t tell you exactly what it was about that first in a series of OCD rituals, but I can tell you I remember thinking that his (snot and spit-covered ear) smelled different with my thumb in my mouth. Also, the left ear was superior to the right and if I didn’t suck my thumb and smell his ear, I wouldn’t be able to sleep.

nakedbun

Notice the color difference between the two ears despite many washings.

When we traveled up north to our trailer in the summer, I would sleep on the top bunk of our triple bunk beds. Because I often fell out, we had a bed rail. Because Bun often fell out, we tied a shoestring around his neck noose-like and secured him to said bed rail.

A bit dark, yes, but it did the trick.

Bun went everywhere and did everything and his body showed the wear and tear of being loved a little bit too much. It was a sad day when I finally let go of his scrawny little neck, but my dates were getting uncomfortable with the fact I let him keep his side of the bed.

nakedbun2

Bunny porn

I’m kidding, of course. But from blankets and Bun to other things that don’t start with “b,” I’m just a “smelly” person.

I see, I touch, I smell—even delightful at times.

But most certainly better than Bun.

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