The other day, my friend, I mean my archenemy at thedailysmell.com wrote a piece about smelling a fart from her neighbor's dog..."I grinned as I caught whiff of a fart just let out by the dog next door that drifted over our eight-foot tall fence. She needs to go for a walk and ate too many peanut butter cookies last night," wrote Sniffaluffagus.
The passage reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend over beers. I hadn't seen her since my accident. After wondering why I chose the cheap domestic beer over the wall of high-brow brews, I told her that I had lost my sense of smell and taste.
Her response: "Do you miss the smell of your own farts?"
It was the first time that someone else had brought up the fact that I can no longer smell my own farts, though, it wasn't the first time I had thought about it.
The subject was broached a while back when I noticed Aimee on the couch nearly gagging after I had unassumingly let one rip, maybe I had too many peanut butter cookies that day. As Aimee squinted her eyes and clamped her mouth shut on the couch that night, I told her how I missed the smell of my own farts. She didn't feel sorry for me, still doesn't.
Now, because I no longer can whiff my own wind, I have become un-sensitized and unabashed about letting them go, whether that's in front of Aimee or just walking around in public.
I get how horrible it must sound but give it a thought; if you lose a sense when comes the point that the sense is erased from the mind?
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7 years ago