It's Not What You Think

Last night I dreamed about a man who smelled of slightly burnt toast. I'm not going to bore anyone with the dream, or with any pointless exercise in "dream interpretation."

The reason I mention this is that I have an impaired sense of smell. I'm not totally anosmic, as two of my friends are. I'm more the "hard of smelling" sort. Presumably, if I didn't have allergies to everything that grows, I could smell just fine. Realistically, I can detect maybe five different plants held up to my nose, a few foods (popcorn, bacon), a few really unpleasant smells that don't need to be named but are often associated with babies and cats, and not much else. Other people have rich memories associated with smells -- I have no memories attached to smells. I can't taste much either. Many days I don't taste anything beyond sweet, salty, bitter, sour, and I only like the first two of those. Thus, a meal of french fries and chocolate milkshake has maximum appeal to me.

Given the meagre scents available to me, it is a moment of transcendent delight to realize that I can smell in my dreams. Slightly burnt toast. Lovely.