Located approximately 1.5 centimeters between my eyes, and shaped straightly with a slight ski jump at the tip, my nose has been and will forever be, my greatest ally and fiercest foe in my ongoing war on stench.
In early 2003, days before a drug-store pregnancy test proved positive, I waltzed into work, as I routinely had for quite some time, weaving my way through the cubicles to my office when suddenly it hit- a smell so offensively perfumed and sickeningly sweet, my first instinct was to gag. My sense of smell had been freakishly heightened by hormones. The wall of stink followed me and as I picked up speed to escape it, it gave chase. Choosing the fight response over flight, I took charge, sniffing out its most hideously potent home base- the electrical outlet down the hall. It was a Glade Plug-in. I loath them to this day. Now with three pregnancies under my belt (tucked next to my muffin-top) my nose has never come down from its acute smelling high.
A blessing some have called it. True, I can enjoy the fragrance of early blooming flowers in May wafting from a far-away neighbour's yard. The delicate bouquet of wine, fabric softeners floating from a home. Or smell the comforting burn of fireplace logs a mile away on a crisp autumn day. I can also shield my kids by re-routing when out for a walk if I smell a toxic chemical or hot asphalt blowing down wind from the distance. This sensitive sniffer of mine has saved the day more than once.
But the problem my friends, is that I am the lone female in a house of 4 boys (3 little ones and 1 big lug). Think flatulence, sweaty feet, dank towels, repetitive wear of same undies, soiled diapers and that's just from my husband (joking). Seriously, boys smell. Bad. Plus we have an aging and perpetually tortured cat (tufts of her fur in the boys' fists to prove it). I am confident that she seeks her revenge with invisible bowel movements.
Each day, when I re-enter the home the first thing I do is take a big, hearty inhalation. And my friends, I do not like what I smell. Not one bit. And the Glade Plug-ins are out for reasons discussed earlier. I've spent entire chunks of time, crawling around on all fours, smelling rugs, wood floors, cracks, crevices, closets, shoes and vents. What in the name of sanity is that smell? It's musty, it's slightly earthy, it's unpleasant and I want it gone.
My husband and the boys, seem to lack a sense of smell altogether. How convenient for them. How nice it must be to live in an odor-free haze of denial as they do.
Me to husband: Spencer smells like he ate something and it died inside of him- can you change his revolting diaper?
Husband to me: I can't smell a thing.
The other day, I filled a pot with water and cinnamon, then set it to simmer. Martha always says it's the way to creating an inviting home scent...until you forget it's there and upon total evaporation the smell of burning metal pot fills the room. Now that's another stink I have to get rid of...will it ever end?
What I need is a plugged nose. Seasonal allergies, take hold of me, I'm begging you...please.
Maybe my only hope is to sniff out a new house that spews the comforting scent of off-gassing...it's certainly better than the gasses the boys release around here...
So now that you all know my house stinks, who wants to come over?
