Friday, February 7, 2014

Oooh, That Smell

Repost, with an update.  Because I'm bored.

I have one hard and fast rule from which I never, ever deviate.  No matter how compelling or earnest the entreaty or convincing the argument, I refuse to be swayed.

When someone asks me to "Smell this"?  I. Will.  Not.  Do. It.

In fact, when I go to work I will spend 8 hours (or more) breathing through my mouth.  Only when I am safely in my car will I take a deep breath through my nose.

I hate foul smells almost as much as I hate raw chicken.  I can't help it, but I'd rather deal with most of the guts, gore and bodily fluids from any orifice, natural or man-made, than handle raw chicken.

I don't know when it started, but if I have to cut up chicken I can't eat it.  These days I can't tolerate any chicken I buy unless it is already cooked.  Oh, I like chicken well enough and I don't have any problem with eggs.  There is just something sooooooooo gross to me about slimy, nasty raw chicken in a package.

Things I would rather do than handle raw chicken:

gut fish
put live lobsters in a pot of boiling water
put worms on a hook
ladle chum
(can you tell I grew up on the ocean?)

I have a point, I promise.

Given my phobia of raw chicken and intense dislike of foul smells, you can probably understand why I went just a little apeshit when Mr. Ednursasauras took a package of chicken out of the fridge and said,
"Smell this"

Nope.

Except it seems to be getting worse, this, this….bad smell thing.  I have been googling brain tumors and such because it seems I am always smelling the odor of years of cigarette smoke and unwashed human, even it it has been days since I have been closeted in a phone-booth sized triage cubicle with same.

The most recent olfactory assault has been the aroma of some kind of perfume.  Could be conditioner or hairspray.  It's sickly sweet and just WAFTS, this heavy cloying scent.  Not sure what it is, but I was trying to explain it to Mr. Ednurseasauras yesterday while we were wandering around the grocery store.
Naturally I immediately smelled it and surreptitiously pointed out the offender.

Me:  "There it is.  It's awful, walk behind that woman in the black coat and zebra boots.  The one with the really bad hair cut, see, she's taking down a box of oatmeal.  Go smell it and tell me what you think.  It's like that BO episode of Seinfeld; it's like an entity"

Mr. Ednurseasuras: "I'm not going to follow around some lady to smell her.  I will just have to take your word for it"

OK, fine.  I see your point.  Later while we were waiting in the pharmacy for a prescription I decided to smell all of the hair products to determine which brand smelled the most like Shampoo and Death.

3 comments:

BossNurse said...

I SO identify with this post. Over the last 5 years or so, my sense of smell has gotten much more sensitive. I was always the nurse that GI bleed poop and nasty infected wounds never fazed, but today? I can hardly go in the room with any foul smell. When doing wound care, I spend my time alternating mouth-breathing and holding my breath. Too much perfume? Blecchh. Rotting food? Ugggh. Cleaning the litterboxes? Oh my, holding my breath for that one. On the up side--handling raw stuff doesn't faze me.

Thanks for sharing, and BTW I really enjoy your blog :)

EDNurseasauras said...

Thank you for your kind words. Glad I'm not alone with the hyperactive sense of smell!

Elizabeth Scala said...

Hilarious, I love the Seinfeld reference. One of my favorite shows. Smells surely can take on a life of their own. Great writing and thanks for the story! Elizabeth