I have had a brief reprieve in my nausea hell this afternoon. I didn’t wait around to see how long it would last. I wanted out of the house and I wanted to do some exercise dammit! I threw on the first mismatched outfit that found its way into my hands , jammed on my helmet and took off on my bike. It was amazing, just what I had been craving. Fresh air combined with speed. I got about a block down my street when the first assault occurred.
A smell so foul and unrecognisable crept up my nose making me swerve on my bike and wildly lash my head around to try to find its source. No luck. I pedalled faster but by then the smell had imprinted on my overly sensitive olfactory system and seemed to seep into my pores. I avoided closing my mouth because I was afraid that I would start to taste it. And then as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished.
Another block or so in and I began to relax into my ride. I allowed myself to enjoy the feel of the sunshine delivering much needed vitamin d to my pasty, anaemic skin. The memory of that horrible smell had all but exited my mind when I was hit with another. Sausages. And not gourmet ones either. It was the unmistakeable scent of those really cheap and nasty thin snags. You know, the ones that are mostly cereal and testicle and sell for about four bucks a dozen. This was a smell that I could taste and once I had I wished with all my heart I hadn’t. The familiar churning in my stomach sparked up and I knew that my ride was now on borrowed time.
I rode like I was being chased by a demon. A giant Aussie barbecue snag demon that would wrap me in a slice of wonder bread and eat me with a side of salmonella and sauce. Once I escaped the radius of the sausage cloud I stopped and had a drink of water hoping that I could settle myself and keep riding.
No such luck, everywhere I went I was assaulted with smells. Not one of them pleasant. My sense of smell had become enhanced to almost superhuman proportions and everything started to feel very hot and close. I conceded once I came to the acceptance and realisation that there was no escape. Apparently my town just down right stinks. I turned and headed home, preparing for another journey through the valley of sausage stink and that original smell that is still a mystery to me.
My daughter, about to turn four has started kinder this year and along with her new friends she has gained some new and interesting habits. Upon my return to the safety and relatively odour free home she greeted me in a way that I have never experienced before. My dainty, pretty little girl came up to me, turned, lifted her dress and farted on my leg. Charming. She thought it was a laugh riot as I stood there with a look of sheer confusion on my face. And then the smell rose up to greet me also and the confused look made way for the look one might have had they been hit with a good dose of nerve gas. This was a smell that will outlast civilisation, religion and the cockroaches after a nuclear holocaust. And it came out of the tiny, cute little bum of my four year old. It defies every scientific law known to man.
It was done, my home, my sanctuary from this stinky swamp of a town had been tainted. I trudged upstairs, my shoulders sagged in defeat, leaving the echoes of my daughters maniacal laughter in the background. On my way past the toilet I spied the numerous boxes of tampons that grace my window sill. They would be of no use to me for the next nine months. Or would they? Desperate for relief, I briefly considered jamming a tampon up each nostril, super absorbency of course. Only the best will do! Then I pictured how I would look with two strings dangling from my nose and decided against it.
Have you ever smelled a smell so shockingly horrific that you were certain that it would be with you forever? I am sure we all have at some point or another and most likely our husbands are the guilty parties for bringing said smell into existence. But no matter how bad they are, they do go away. And I have finally solved the mystery of where the worst smells go to dwell in putrid purgatory.
The local IGA supermarket. It is a veritable smorgasbord of filthy fragrances. The Bermuda Triangle of odours. I kid you not. There is the aisle with the soft drinks and bottled water. It stinks like rotting fish. There is no seafood around this aisle especially not of the decomposing variety to explain this. Another aisle consistently smells like the worst combination of bad breath and body odour imaginable. Then there is the aisle that smells like crap. Literally. It smells like a million pairs of soiled underpants.
This supermarket is the only one near my work which is the only reason why I am occasionally forced to enter. I have been in my shop for four years now and these smells have never wavered. It is not an accident. It is not temporary. They reside in these aisles, destined to haunt the unfortunate customers for all of eternity.
I struggled with This place before I was pregnant , as you can imagine it is on my black ban list now. I just don’t think there are enough anti-emetics in the world to counter a visit to that store in my current, delicate nasal condition.
When you were pregnant in the olden days, after a certain month you would go into your confinement. It meant literally that you were confined to your quarters until such time as the baby was born. I would like to request that the tradition of confinement be reinstated. Just as long as I am confined to an odour proof room that is not within a 100 kilometre radius of the local IGA supermarket.