A walk in the fresh air and a brief
encounter set me thinking about smells.
If we’re lucky, at some point in our lives we’ve been able to
experience the magical scent of a baby’s head. Think how mellow we’d all be if
a room freshener or candle could capture that.
On the opposite side of the scale, once in a while in the
grocery store I’ll push my cart past the “old man smell” as a senior gentleman
walks, slowly adding Campbells soup to his cart of single items. Not really
unwashed, but clothes that have been worn a few too many times.
This is not to be confused with the “little old lady” smell,
with strong overlays of talcum powder; although the other day I did stroll
through an added layer of mothballs.
Another version of this is more
prevalent in Florida, where you can be momentarily stunned by a wall of
Shalimar pulsing from retiree in a bejeweled tee shirt. I suppose if you wear
the same perfume for forty-five years you probably fail to realize how much you’re
spritzing on after a while.
On a more contemporary note, here in
Massachusetts it’s not unusual to have a purple trail of cannabis waft from a
neighboring car window into your own, or to know what the off-hours habits are of
the person who used the ATM before you.
What prompted this review of the
olfactory world was a walk around our complex the other day. I prepared to
greet the woman approaching me, who I didn’t know; the routine here is a
generic smile and a generic comment about the weather as we pass each other. Except
I could smell her from four feet away. She must have been one of those lovers
of fabric softeners. I thanked my lucky stars I was outdoors and not in an elevator.
