Tuesday, April 22, 2003
Scentless Apprentice
Over the last four years or so, I've become psychotically sensitive to certain smells. We're talking full-on, one whiff turns the stomach to curdled milk and the battle to resist vomiting is on. The thing is, half of these smells are things that I formerly liked.
It all started with butterscotch, as a kid I could pop those hard yellow candies with all the vim and vigor of a speed freak. Now, even a hint of that sickly sweet smell is enough to put me down for the count.
From there it morphed into French Vanilla (Q. Don't you mean Freedom Vanilla you unpatriotic son of a bitch? A. Uh, no.) a flavor I never had much use for to begin with, but at least it never made me ill. Needless to say walking by coffee shops is no fun.
And most recently, White Russians have been added to the fold. Now I am pissed. I'm a bowler, I'm a Big Lebowski fan, and I love White Russians-well I did up to a week or so ago. It could be the Kahlua alone, or the combination of Kahlua and milk/cream that's creating the smell, but either way one of my favorites drinks now makes me ill just looking at it.
The thing that freaks me the most is I can no longer differentiate between any of those smells, they are all the same rank butterscotch aroma. I'm probably just slowly going insane and the butterscotch tormenting is some kind of karmic retribution for past transgressions. Whatever the reason for this affliction, it really, really, really sucks.
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