Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Smell ya later
So, lots of good things happen to a body when said body quits smoking. Today, I'm talking about one thing that happens that I find to be not so good. Way not so good. The return of the sense of smell. Ok. To smell the flowers again - good. To smell tasty cookin' smells - good. 7am Metra platform Wall of Stink - not good. Not good at all. I feel like I didn't get the memo that said 'On Wed., 4/9, all riders of the Pacific NW line 7:15 train to Ogilvie please wear your worst/oldest/cheesiest/heaviest/most noxious perfume and or cologne and or eau du toilette and or body spray, and please walk in front of Von. Slowly. She's the cute chubby blonde with the fantastic lavender purse.' In the quick jaunt from train car to escalator I was scentually accosted by a long list of bad. A short sampling: Old Spice. Love's Baby Soft. B.O. Garlic. Yesterday's booze comin' out of pores. Windsong. Jovan White Musk. Flatulence. B&B works Candy apple something-or-other. Bleh. The day is half over, and I STILL have a sinus headache from this morning's onslaught. A year ago my smokin' ass would have been blissfully unaware of these nasties. Not that I'm going to take up smoking again. The whole breathing and lower blood pressure thing is certainly key. I'd just like to make a deal with the devil or something for the return of the smoking me's sense (or lack of) smell. Until said deal is made, new memo to those same riders on that same Metra train: 'Stay out of Von's way with your stank. She will trip you. I'm not kidding. You, and your stupid little backpack on wheels.'