Last night Chuck and I took the boys to the neighborhood pool. I usually enjoy our time at the pool, but last night was packed with all humanity, the water was warm as a bath, and I'm sure I could smell poop.
Yes, someone there, hopefully a kid but I'll never know, was sporting a dirty diaper. Once I became convinced that I could, in fact, smell something like raw sewage, I quickly exited the offensive waters and coaxed my objecting kids out behind me. I tried not to make a big scene, so I walked over to the lifeguard station to fill them in. "Unless we see something floating, there's nothing we can do about it." was their answer.
Last night Chuck and I took the boys to the neighborhood pool. I usually enjoy our time at the pool, but last night was packed with all humanity, the water was warm as a bath, and I'm sure I could smell poop.
Yes, someone there, hopefully a kid but I'll never know, was sporting a dirty diaper. Once I became convinced that I could, in fact, smell something like raw sewage, I quickly exited the offensive waters and coaxed my objecting kids out behind me. I tried not to make a big scene, so I walked over to the lifeguard station to fill them in. "Unless we see something floating, there's nothing we can do about it." was their answer.
I'm sorry, but I don't need to "see" anything "floating" before I can tell if someone's got a load in their pants.
How can I be sure? Well, some people were born with beauty, some with brains; I've been gifted with bionic olfaction. My snout has been proven to accurately identify smells from 2 city blocks away. Back when I kept up with such things, I could tell you what brands of tobacco (or other plants) were being smoked in the vicinity. I can tell you, without seeing them, whether you own cats or dogs. It’s why I hate pets. I'm better than Smokey the Bear, howling and growling and sniffin' the air. Chuck has often suggested that I apply for a job with the K-9 unit or Department of Homeland Security to help identify contraband and hidden plastic explosives.
To be sure, Chuck and the boys get tired of hearing: "What's that smell?" "Is that you?" "Open the window." "Which one of you boys forgot to wipe?" "Oh, man, do THAT outside!" And, in all fairness to them, I can be obsessive. In fact, maybe it is how my OCD manifests itself. Some people obsess over the cleanliness of their house, some people wash their hands until the skin peels off; I obsess over the slightest odor and cannot rest until it is isolated and eliminated.
Don't think it's a blessing. Oh, sure it can be handy when you're in a burning building, or you're in danger from some noxious fume leak. But they make machines to detect those things. I once met a lady who had lost all sense of smell after she fell and hit her head on ice. My first reaction was "Oh, how awful!" In retrospect, though, I’m thinking: why does that kind of thing never happen to me? Last time I fell on ice, I just broke my tailbone.
Now the boys want to go to the pool again tonight because their time last night was cut short. Don’t they get it? Nobody is going to shock the pool until they see something floating. Hmmm…until they see something floating….Caddyshack. Maybe we will go to the pool tonight. Late.
You know, I wish I had the confidence to walk around with a clothespin on my nose. I’m sure I’d be happier. My kids would be happier. And, believe me, Chuck would feel liberated.