Addison walks into the bedroom, puts her nose in the air and says, “It smells in here.”
“Oh,” I say.
“It smells like…”
“Food?” I suggest.
“Uh huh,” she agrees.
“I’ll go get,” I say.
“The incense,” she finishes the thought for me.
Addison has a very sensitive nose. If I should carelessly light the wrong incense – and even close the door behind me – I can expect to hear her call up from the kitchen, “What are you burning up there? Is it one of your sweet incenses?” Making “sweet” sound like a four-letter word.
OK, she can’t stand my sweet incenses or anything fruity (same thing). I can get by with dry Tibetan or Japanese incense and hard-to-find balsam fir incense from Maine (well, it’s easy if you live in the States where you can buy it online).
She’s also quite sensitive to soaps that smell too strong but seemingly not sensitive to how her hair smells after shampooing (very pungent).
Once, many years ago while visiting Ottawa, we walked out of a Japanese restaurant because it didn’t smell right.
But while the range of acceptable scents might be a bit less restrictive with me, I do have my limits. For example, although Addison is a great cook, I can’t stand kitchen smells wafting into other rooms. When it happens I’ll walk around from room to room with a stick of incense – hopefully, for my sake waving the correct kind – and try unsuccessfully to ward off onion, garlic and other otherwise tantalizing aromas.
I also use incense for situations where it doesn’t smell bad necessarily but a little… stale. I will freshen up our bed in the morning and other rooms that seem a little too lived in.
But the worst situation that I’m currently going through is the smell of my boss’s perfume. I should really write it “perfume”. Honestly, the smell seems to be a blend of coffee and dark chocolate, two things which I really don’t mind consuming but not smelling on a person. There doesn’t seem to be any sweet flower ingredient involved. I don’t know whether to gag or go over and lick her.
Luckily, my boss has her own office with which to fill up with essence of chocolate, and my olfactory glands are mostly spared the torture.