one.hundred.twenty

if a way to a man's heart is through his stomach then a way to a femi's heart is through her nose. my nose.

i think i was a sniffer-dog in a previous life. there is not much that i hold in my hands [and definitely nothing that goes into my mouth] that i do not feel compelled to smell. it looks nice, but does it taste nice? well first let's see if it smells nice. not just in the privacy of my own home, no no no, i will inhale aromas at your house, at the restaurant, and even at the supermarket. yes, i willingly engage in social faux-pas-dom because my need for nasal confirmation of delightfulness is just that strong. i have been known to try to pick up the scent of products in tightly-sealed jars and vacuum packed plastic. and i also rub my nostril hairs on carrots.

but it's not just food that my snout is obsessed with; it's smell itself. if someone farts then i am that person that will take a sneaky short, sharp sniff to see if i can pick it up. if it is stinky then i will frown, but i will smell again. i am that person that will smell something foul [perhaps rotten food or a b.o. infested item of clothing], exclaim at how horrible it is and then ask that you smell it too. a friend of mine met such a request with the words "for the record: i never want to smell anything that stinks." i thought him quite strange.

however more than food, it is people that i love to smell the most. i don't run up on folks unannounced, but if we have an embrace then you can be sure that i am inhaling your fragrance. i have dated men that i knew i had no future with based on their scent. men who smelled like they were covered in a cologne named four months pour homme. something in me believes i can smell a friend, and i can smell a foe. that by the whiff emanating from the pores of another, i can locate our future journey. it's almost spiritual.

i wish i could inhale you all.