I smell dead people.Actually, no. I probably wouldn't.
I mean even if a spectral Bruce Willis and I found ourselves hanging out in a mafia meat locker after a particularly busy week, I think we'd have a better chance of ol' Brucie announcing, "Phew, this is a good place for a Plug-In" before I ever would.
I am allergy-impaired, you see. And I think I actually prefer it that way. Because a brief moment of allergy-meds-induced, smell-based lucidity last evening led me on a bloodhound-like chase that I don't care to repeat.
I mean, you people with normal smellerificness-- do you go around sniffing your home entertainment system very often?
My money is on "no, only on special occasions."
See, I'd been running around the house finishing up a few things post-dinner. I sat down to watch a DVD, and then...
"I smell something on fire. Something electrical. Or metal. Or burnt dead dog. Or maybe spareribs."
(Cut me some slack-- having not smelled anything since about January, I lack your ninja-like Smell Precision Reflexes.)
There were a number of possible culprits in the area for this:
- The broiler of the stove I had used for dinner. Could sirloin steak grilled on a metal pan smell like the Sony warehouse going up in flames?
- A candle in a votive. Had I been freshening my house with toxic candle fumes, thus explaining my penchant for eccentric narrative?
- The heating system. Was she gonna blow, Kiptin?
To my fleetingly clear sinus, which had had only clocked a total of two full hours actual smell-training, it really could have been anything. Or nothing.
Well, I sniffed around. I stood on the heat vents and sniffed them in a pajama-clad, non-blonde, nasal-oriented version of Marilyn Monroe in the Seven Year Itch. (It smelled heaty.)
I stuck my head in the oven and sniffed. (It smelled meaty.)
I blew out and sniffed the possibly aromatic candle. (Nope, smelled like birthday disappointment.)
And then I started sniffing my TV, cable box and DVD player.
Because, in spite of the fact that the thing sounded great, the picture was clear, and there were no flames licking the TV cabinet, it was possible that there was some quiet inner-operative brush fire that would rip across the country to wipe out Malibu unless I stood there for the next half hour, strategically smelling it, while simultaneously missing my program.
What I finally concluded was that my nose was experiencing an ol-factory hallucination due to the allergy meds. I didn't fully believe the theory, of course. But we lie to ourselves to get through the night...
Preferably so that night is not spent sleeping propped up with one's nose stuck to the widescreen.
Yet this morning, as I came downstairs and slurped the first cup of java for the day, the hallucination returned.
"Fire. I smell fire."
It was only as I'd been heading to work and locking the front door-- the smell gaining significant stink-momentum-- that I realized...
The neighbors next door have a wood-burning stove. They've lived next to me for at least three years, but this was the first time I'd actually be able to smell it burning.
I'd wasted 40 minutes of my life trying to locate a scent that wasn't even in my house.
So, I really can't wait until my nasal passages close up again. This extra sensory stimuli is really just too much to handle. The burden, it's too great.
I don't know how all of you fully-smelling people handle it with such grace.
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