Kristal Lee

When I read that the aroma of green apples can control appetite, I laughed.  Stuff a green apple up my nose and then serve me a pizza. See if I don’t scarf it down with as much gusto as I would if I didn’t have fruit lodged in my nostrils.

Good or bad, smells can influence us and they can permeate your memories just like your clothes can absorb odors.

When I get a whiff of freshly baked peach cobbler I’m transported to the days when  Granny had chicken and dumplins on the table and a cobbler in the oven. Her house filled with family and friends from far and near.  A constant roar rising from everyone talking at and over everyone else, reaching a point of chaos if you weren’t used to the rapid fire conversations.

A Norman Rockwell family we weren’t. But we had love and hope and acceptance. The smell of peach cobbler brings me back to all those wonder feelings.

But not all scent associations are positive.

Late one afternoon, Professor X and I went to an early dinner with a certain  someone.  I climbed in the backseat of Prof X’s two-door car so that this certain someone could ride up front. 

Within seconds of us pulling out of the garage, I thought I would have a heat stroke. Being cramped into a black car that’s absorbed the unrelenting  mid-August-in-Florida sun is like being stuffed in an oven. Taking pity on my sweat-induced fanning fit, Prof X (bless his heart)  turned on the car’s  A/C full blast. 

What hit me in the face can’t  be described by such mambie-pambie words like foul, pungent, or atrocious. I don’t think that a word exists in the English language that would come close to describing a stink worse than a rotting corpse three times over.

Tears trickled from the corners of my eyes as I squinted against the brutal bombardment of  this stench. My stomach somersaulted, violently, and made a desperate attempt to claw through my back in order to squirm into the trunk to hide. I didn’t dare open my mouth to speak.  I didn’t want that funk imprinted on my tongue or cloyed in my throat.

Prof X was oblivious to the smell and to my plight. So was the certain someone riding with us. The certain someone to whom  I now refer to as Pepe le Pew.

The decrepit odor swirled around Pepe like the dust cloud surrounding Charlie Brown’s friend Pigpen.

I  realized two crappy truths  about two-door cars. The backseat has no windows to roll down or doors to jump out of.  I wouldn’t have waited for a stop sign or red light .  Road rash was worth the chance to breathe fresh air.

Once we stopped at the restaurant, I might’ve knocked Pepe over in my zeal to get away from him. I say “might have” because I was oxygen deprived from holding my breath for ten miles and I was on the fringe of an out of body experience. Even the eternal being within me wanted  to get the heck away from that god-awful smell.

It’s imprinted in my brain. Not only the smell, but the nausea associated with it and the feeling of being trapped. All of it  comes rushing back at the mere thought of climbing into the backseat of a car.

Some people can’t smell skunks. I wish I was one of them. Maybe I wouldn’t have been affected by Pepe.

Smell cells renewed every twenty-eight days, so basically you get a new nose every month. That’s good news to me. I needed a new one after that repulsive experience.

Want to ensure mosquitoes stay away from your outdoor bar-b-que? Decorate with smelly socks.  Or have a friend with really stinky feet stand in the back corner of the yard. 

Researchers have found mosquitoes are four times more attracted to the smell of stinky socks than they are to people.  Scientists hope to find a way to cheaply mass-produce the stinky sock smell to help fight malaria by using the scent to lure the mosquitoes to their death.

Stressed? Anxious? Blood pressure too high? Before running to the doctor for a handful of prescription meds try eating more beans.  A 2008 study suggests that the stink in farts controls blood pressure.  I really would’ve hated to have been a volunteer for that study group.

Had an accident in your new car?  You could’ve been drunk on the new car scent, according to one study.  Apparently the fumes from the upholstery and carpet can be toxic and cause light-headedness and fainting spells. A Colorado man’s defense team claim the “new car smell” may have caused him to hit a cyclist Vail.   I’m not sure how they’ll explain why he left the scene of the accident instead of calling 9-1-1.

Got a stink story? Share your ordeal.

Or, if you have a sweet-smelling memory indulge me with that too.

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It happened somewhere between 11:00pm and 5:00am. I went to sleep with a flat tummy and poof! I arose with a marshmallowy middle. Prof X’s first response was to poke my belly button to see if I giggled like the Pillsbury dough boy.

I didn’t.

He tried to lighten my mood with reassurances.
WARNING: I like squeezing your cushy parts is NOT a comfort to a woman whose body has unexpectedly metamorphosized into something other than a supermodel.

How the hell did this happen?

I eat right.
Mostly.
Ok, pizza, buffalo chicken sandwiches and French fries might appear more often than not in my diet but otherwise I avoid dairy products, fried and other high fat foods.

Exercise?
Most days I’m on the go from the time I roll out of bed until I roll back into it. I’ve little time for an exercise routine. A body in constant motion burns calories, right? And, now that I think about it, sometimes I run in my sleep. That should count for something.

Age?
Don’t even mention it. I’ll pull a Ralph Kramden with a Pow! Right in the kisser.

Without a foreseeable cause, I’m forced to conclude that the sudden deconditioning of my middle is the direct result of …<looks over shoulder and whispers> …a body snatcher. You know what that means, don’t you? 

Aliens are among us.
I’ve watched the X-Files. I know such things are true.

Hollywood has been blatantly exposing the mechanisms of this alien subterfuge since the 1950s with cinematic features such as Invasion of the Body Snatchers and The Puppet Masters. Even now, the warnings are clear.

1. Aliens are zombie-izing our children. (Ask Noah Wylie. He deals with this problem weekly on Falling Skies.)

2. Aliens are snatching the waistlines of maturing women and replacing them with fluff. (It happened to me. It could happen to you.)

Ladies, it’s imperative that you protect yourselves from this type of attack. Guard your middles! These aliens are ninja-trained, slipping past even the ever observant Monster Puppy who instantly alerts when something is amiss. They are shadows that lie in wait, waiting to pounce when you are most vulnerable.

Be diligent. Once these perilous invaders disappear with your flat tummy, you’re forever altered.

But, you don’t have to be defeated. I’ve discovered a new Yoga instructor who promises to help women, just like me, who’ve had their waists stolen.


 

Have you experienced an alien abduction of the waist? Have you overcome or succumb to the alien fluff? How has this encounter impacted your life? You are not alone!

Have you ever scooped a turtle out of the road before it gets creamed by an unobservant driver? Swerved to miss a squirrel? Or fed an errant cat because it meowed incessantly at the back door at dinner time?

I have…too many times to count, much to Professor X’s dismay.  It’s my nature. I see an animal in trouble and I help it, or find someone with experience who can.

I’ve rescued squirrels, birds, cats, dogs, turtles. I’ve even resuscitated a lizard that had all but given up its reptilian ghost.

Until recently, I never thought about how the furbabies viewed my rescue efforts.  They’re rescued dogs.  Monster Puppy came to us at 10 weeks old; his mother pulled from a kill-shelter and later found to be pregnant. Brave Little Basset arrived a year later, after being abused and abandoned. He more than MP probably understands the value of helping those in need.

One afternoon, nearly dusk, Professor X opened the French doors for MP and BLB to go outside. Within a few minutes, a storm began blowing in from the South. In the distance, thunder began rolling. Not quite a rumble, but a definite warning of the monstrous rain heading toward us.

It seemed odd when Professor X called for me to wrangle the furbabies inside.  MP and BLB are afraid of storms and they think my lap is the safest place in the universe when the sky monster begins shaking the heavens. 

I found MP prancing frantically on the back porch, urging his fur-brother to hurry.

And with ears flapping in the breeze as he scurried across the yard ahead of the rain was BLB. Only he wasn’t alone.

BLB had scooped up a young armadillo and was dashing toward the  porch’s doggie door determined to save the critter  from the impeding monsoon. If  Professor X hadn’t quickly closed the French doors, BLB would’ve raced into the house with his first rescue.

Professor X looked at me and said, “He takes after you.”

I have to admit, I’m mighty proud of that.

 Are you a critter rescuer? What's your favorite rescue story? Have your furbabies picked up any of your habits or traits?