So, one crazy thing: I can’t smell. The ol’ olfactory nerves just don’t work. There are a few theories as to why, but they don’t change the fact that I can sit obliviously reading a book in a kitchen rapidly filling with the smoke of burning potatoes in a microwave. True story.
I have to rely on my husband to identify the cause of what he calls, “something reeking from the fridge.” I have to rely on my husband to jump in from the living room out of concern for dinner when he thinks he smells, “something burning.” (Usually it’s a false alarm. Usually.) I have to rely on the store owner to describe the smells for my oil lamp so I can cover up the fridge reeking smell. I have to rely on my kids to remind me that the baby’s diaper is full of it.
So I’m pretty paranoid about what could be going on in the air unbeknownst to me.
Recently a friend was due to come over and I had to make an apple pie. I thought, “Great. We’re all set on the smell front.” Well, the juices boiled over through the pie crust onto the bottom of the oven where they burned and burned. Smoke filled the air and once again, I went blithely on with my last minute cleaning in the next room while anyone with a normal nose would have gone running into the kitchen to save the air and oven. (The pie was fine.)
I wonder if my friends just expect my house to stink or are they surprised every time still?