Her nose knows

My daughter has an innate sense of smell.

“Ew, what is that smell?” she demanded when she walked into the kitchen the other day.

“It’s sausage stromboli,” I said, proud of myself for making something for dinner that didn’t come out of a box.  “It’s going to be so yummy!”

“Well, it smells like zebra poop,” she said, matter of factly.  How she knows what zebra poop smells like, I have no idea.  But in all fairness, I did sneak some broccoli into the stromboli, and it did smell a little less than savory.  Certainly not like zebra poop, mind you.  But a little wonky nonetheless.

She can also smell human poo from a mile away.  “Mom, Chippy’s diaper smells like poop,” she wailed at me another time.

I bent over to give my son the sniff test.  Sure enough, Chip’s diaper bulged wonkily.  And there was definitely something festering in there.  “You’re right.  Thanks for telling me, bud.”

“Thought so,” she said, with an air of satisfaction.  “I told dad, but he couldn’t smell anything, and told me to see if you could.”

(In our house, this last scenario actually happens more than I’d care to admit.)

With this refined sense of smell, it does baffle me sometimes as to the things she doesn’t smell.

Case in point: the other night, I walked into the room where Bobo and my better half were lying on the bed playing a game.  Something smelled positively wonky.  My eyes immediately began to water.  I have no idea how my daughter could stand it in there.

“Um, who tooted in here?” I inquired casually.  Of course, I already knew the answer.

“That would be dad,” Bobo answered back, not even bothering to look up from her game.

Jay giggled silently, and then, in typical dad fashion, tried to point the finger the other way.  “Really?” he said, feigning innocence.  “Are you sure it wasn’t momma?”

“Mom doesn’t make that smell, dad,” she answered indignantly.  “Momma always smells pretty.”

As I exited the room, still laughing, the stench trailed after me down the hall.

And then I figured it out.  It’s clearly not that my daughter can’t smell farts.  It’s just that when it comes to certain smells, her olfactory sense just doesn’t recognize them any more.  Like dad’s flatulence.  Apparently, it’s so rampant in our house, it’s made her poor little nose a little wonky. 

I take comfort in the fact that she can still clearly smell my farts.  Because, smart little cookie that she is, she recognizes that mine always smell like roses.

If you don’t believe me, just ask my daughter.  Her nose does not lie.

Side note: Sadly, I have to ‘fess up.  While my daughter believes I always smell like roses, I know better.  If you read yesterday’s post, you may or may not be surprised to hear that #6 did indeed happen.  As did all of them… except #3.  I never ran with the bulls in Pamplona.  But I have stepped in plenty of poop.  And that’s the honest truth.

The WoW is “wonky”