Name! That! Smell!

NYC, like most big cities, I imagine, is a veritable potpourri of sights, sounds and smells.  Not all of these smells are good.  Actually, most of these smells aren't good.  Over the past seven years I've developed quite an aptitude for anticipating offensive odors and know instinctively when to hold my breath, or at the very least breathe through my mouth.  Gross, huh?

It's fair to say I have a superhuman sense of smell, one of my more unusual talents.  I also possess the ability to remember and (sometimes) accurately guess people's Astrological signs.  I like to say I'm psychic, though Hubbers likes to say psyco.  Tee hee.

Should I ever participate in a beauty pageant, I could perform smelling as my talent.  Coincidentally, my Grandma's Sister's Granddaughter was once Miss Massachusetts.  She didn't win, although she did attend Harvard, which this broad feels is far more impressive than participating in dehumanizing swimsuit challenges.  Tiaras are nice, too, though.

In other things completely (well mostly) unrelated, the man who works at the quickie mart up the road once told me, "You're such a pretty lady, you're always smelling."  I assumed he meant smiling, but what actually came out of his mouth was smelling.  The irony is, I am a very gifted smeller!  Hey, how did he know?! 

When I was a child my Grandma used to try and conceal her cigarettes from me, often dangling one out the window while we were in the car.  What did she think I was, a rookie?  From the backseat my toddler voice would eerily call out, "I can smell it..."  Eventually she ended up quitting, which I guess was easier than listening to me.  I'm persistent (irritating?) like that.

These days I sometimes play a slightly nauseating morning commute game that I like to call: Name! That! Smell!

The rules are simple: when an offensive subway stench invades my nostrils I attempt to decipher where said reek is coming from.  I know what you're thinking, wouldn't the origin of a nasty nearby stank be obvious?  Some days it ain't as straightforward as you'd think, my friend. 

Wednesday, April 18, 9:35am: a pungent subway odor appears, and just as I was relaxing into my Paulo Coelho novel.  (The Zahir, incidentally) Could this rankness be wafting from the sleeping gentleman positioned directly across from me?  Or, more likely, could it be emanating from the girl sitting to my right, maniacally knitting a brown scarf?  And if so, is there something within her bag (cabbage soup?  A dead body?) that would cause such a foul odor to emit into her general area?  She appears otherwise to be a pretty, hipster type girl...

Just when I think my nose cannot participate in this foul game for another second, a heavily perfumed woman invades my personal space and I gratefully breathe in the scent of White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor.  Ah, sweet relief.  Thank you, Baby Jesus.  I spend the remaining moments of my commute practicing deep breathing.  The pleasing Liz Taylor aroma reminds me of my Auntie Donna (as this was formerly her signature scent before she officially converted to Hanae Mori) and once again, all is right within my world.

By the way, the smell was definitely coming from knitting hipster girl. 

Please join me next time, Dear Reader, for more fun in horrendous aromas on Name! That! Smell!

Comments

not to put down miss massachusetts, but ms. illinois 2003 won ms. america AND went to harvard.

[The Odd Broad]

It's always nicer when the beauty queens are brainy...