Life In The Slow Lane...
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San Diego, CA, United States
This is a commentary about the slow lane, about the slowing of time since I suffered a severe brain injury while skateboarding with my dog. This is a blog about recovery; about our '82 VW Westfalia. It's about writing, surfing, camping, married life, bleeding ulcers that make you feel old at 32; about family, friends, and my dog Artie; it's about cruising in fourth gear, getting passed by every car and learning to appreciate every second of it.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Weekly Installment: Two Sense Short

Today, my "archnemesis" from wrote about traipsing through the coffee aisle at the local health food store for a quick rush of "nose candy." The supersniffer opened one bin and took a whiff and the strong scent of skunk filled her canine-like chemosensory system.

It reminded me of my recent run-in with a skunk, though, my experience was a bit different than the great "odor-picker-upper's."

Not long ago, Aimee woke me in the middle of the night. Our dog Artie was at the door and needed to go out. Aimee got up and opened the door. The dog ran out, the ridge on his back standing straight up. Just then Aimee said she saw Artie go nose to nose with a skunk. A few moments later Artie was rubbing his nose and eyes on the ground and with his paws.

I ran into the office and looked up what to use when skunks attack. I came back with some rags and a bubbling vinegar concoction. Aimee took the items and started scrubbing Artie's face. I stood above them and watched.

"You can't smell, shouldn't you be the one doing this?" She asked, her eyes watering and nose running.

I stood there unaffected by the odor.

Later, after Aimee got out of the shower she asked me again why I wasn't more help.

"Because, I wouldn't know when the skunk's scent was gone," I told her.

"What do you mean? You'd take a shower just like I did and wash it off."

"Yeah, and how would I know if it was gone? Would I come out and have you smell me and return to the shower if it wasn't off? That could go on all night, all week!"

Here's a quick bonus installment:

A few days ago, I went up to Aimee to give her a kiss. Just as our lips touched, Aimee pulled back, her face all contorted.

"Honey, you're moustache stinks kinda like dried snot."

These are the things that happen when you can't pick up a scent, even when it's a few centimeters from your nose.

Your move

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