Attack of the smellemia
Good gravy, it's hot.
Now, I've been in South Carolina for the past week, and it was damn hot there. But lounging by the pool all day in a bikini tends to lessen the swelter a bit. Back here in DC, swaddled in the least amount of clothing I can wear and still be considered professional-looking, all I can do is walk slowly and hope I'm not swamped by the time I reach my destination.
But the worst part of the heat?
The smells.
They are everywhere, and they are pungent. Stepping out of my front yard, I was hit with the overwhelming smell of garbage. It's trash day. The odd part of it was that the trash is picked up in the alley in back, and I was on the front street. The heat was already so intense at 8 a.m. that it was carrying the oddly sweet and dirty smell of rotting food in waves over our houses.
On the bus, a man sat down next to me. Suddenly, the smell of smoke was practically choking me. Another passenger yielded some sour b.o. Waiting for the train, the acrid smell of hot metal and brake fluid seemed to hang a bit heavier than usual. Hiking up the metro escalator, again the smell of trash. Walking up to my office, I could smell the approaching garbage truck a whole block away.
Catching a whiff of unpleasant smells is never very fun, but when you can't escape it, it makes you miserable. Worse, those smells seem to invade your nostrils and take up residence there, helping to keep those nasty odors with you the entire day.
It's a condition my roommates dubbed "smellemia" back in college. I lived with another girl who, for some reason, had a pretty stinky bed. It wasn't that she didn't wash her sheets, or that she didn't bathe; no matter what she did, it just always smelled like funk. And then our room smelled like funk. Finally, I became paranoid that after spending any amount of time in our room, I smelled like funk, too.
I started asking everyone to smell me, because I was convinced the stench was pasted on me like glue and that I would repel everyone within five feet of me. Of course, I didn't really smell--or at least I didn't smell like the room. But the smell haunted me, followed me to class, sat with me in the cafeteria. My paranoia became so intense that my hall-mates said I had a nose-malfunctioning disorder, and they named it smellemia.
Now, on this hot, humid July day, the smellemia has returned in full force.
Do you smell that, too??
Now, I've been in South Carolina for the past week, and it was damn hot there. But lounging by the pool all day in a bikini tends to lessen the swelter a bit. Back here in DC, swaddled in the least amount of clothing I can wear and still be considered professional-looking, all I can do is walk slowly and hope I'm not swamped by the time I reach my destination.
But the worst part of the heat?
The smells.
They are everywhere, and they are pungent. Stepping out of my front yard, I was hit with the overwhelming smell of garbage. It's trash day. The odd part of it was that the trash is picked up in the alley in back, and I was on the front street. The heat was already so intense at 8 a.m. that it was carrying the oddly sweet and dirty smell of rotting food in waves over our houses.
On the bus, a man sat down next to me. Suddenly, the smell of smoke was practically choking me. Another passenger yielded some sour b.o. Waiting for the train, the acrid smell of hot metal and brake fluid seemed to hang a bit heavier than usual. Hiking up the metro escalator, again the smell of trash. Walking up to my office, I could smell the approaching garbage truck a whole block away.
Catching a whiff of unpleasant smells is never very fun, but when you can't escape it, it makes you miserable. Worse, those smells seem to invade your nostrils and take up residence there, helping to keep those nasty odors with you the entire day.
It's a condition my roommates dubbed "smellemia" back in college. I lived with another girl who, for some reason, had a pretty stinky bed. It wasn't that she didn't wash her sheets, or that she didn't bathe; no matter what she did, it just always smelled like funk. And then our room smelled like funk. Finally, I became paranoid that after spending any amount of time in our room, I smelled like funk, too.
I started asking everyone to smell me, because I was convinced the stench was pasted on me like glue and that I would repel everyone within five feet of me. Of course, I didn't really smell--or at least I didn't smell like the room. But the smell haunted me, followed me to class, sat with me in the cafeteria. My paranoia became so intense that my hall-mates said I had a nose-malfunctioning disorder, and they named it smellemia.
Now, on this hot, humid July day, the smellemia has returned in full force.
Do you smell that, too??
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