Every Monday I free-write whatever comes to mind.
I can’t promise you quality. I can’t promise you the feels. I can’t promise you anything, really. Except that it will always be raw, it will always be unedited, it will always be all over the place, and it will always be me. Oh, and it will always be done in my pajamas. Always. Because that’s how I roll.
Hmmm. What to talk about today…
How about… I don’t know… Sniffers. Snhozzes. Those blessed things we call noses.
My sense of smell is awful. You could shove bits of three-day old corpse up inside of my nose and I’d have no idea. It is not uncommon for me to be in a room full of everyone (and their dogs, strangely) bending over and dry heaving over some awful smell, and I’m just like… what are all your panties bunched up for?
I learned long ago that I literally can never trust a fart. I’d have no way to know most of the time if it smelled like anything at all, and I can’t wait around to see if people start dropping like flies. And since most people will let the first one or two pass without saying anything, I would just happily toot away in blissful ignorance until they finally gagged.
But, you see, while my smeller doesn’t work too well with, oh… I don’t know… 99% of scents, it works really well for a particular four or five.
Curry is one of those scents. And because of that, I hate… and I mean hate, hate, hate going into Thai or Indian restaurants.
Imagine if you never could smell much of anything at all, and then WHAM. Overpowering curry which will not stop assaulting you. It makes me instantly ill. My brain and body don’t know what to do with such smells when they hit, especially like that.
It’s sad, really, because I actually have never tasted a curry dish that I hated as much as the smell. In fact, outside of Indian and Thai restaurants, I find curry dishes to be quite delightful. It’s the whole overpowering wave that hits you when you walk in those doors I can’t deal with.
That loathing has damaged a few relationships now. Most women love those places, and I don’t know. I guess it’s… immature to say that I don’t want to go in there because they’re “stinky” to me?
Whatever. Walk a mile in my nose and then let’s talk.