I have an exceptionally good sense of smell, it became a bit of a legend among my colleagues. We encountered 'nasty niffs' on a fairly regular basis, not only was I almost always the first person to spot them, I could usually identify the precise cause of the pong with cringe making accuracy.
There have been times when my sense of smell has almost driven me to distraction. When Sam was a bit younger he went through a 'spy' phase and for reasons best known to him he stashed some goodies in the pocket of the sofa valance. Very soon I detected the smell of decaying orange, but despite turning the room upsidedown and pulling all the furniture out I couldnt find the source of the smell. It took days before I descovered Sam's stash which included a very sad satsuma. I seem to remember that when questioned Sam mentioned something about survival techniques.
Robbie has learned to put up with my sense of smell, there is no point telling fibs about what he has had for lunch or if he had a sandwich on the train because I always know. There are certain smells that I can't stand, in particular I dislike the smell of alcohol and the smell of onions. I am teetotal and since we have been together Robbie only has the occasional pint when he goes to a gig. Onions prove a bit more of a temptation to him but he doesn't like the consequences - I won't go anywhere near him. On Saturday Robbie decided to have some cheese and chive pretzels as a snack. As a result he stank of onions, and I couldn't even bear him to talk to me because it was so overpowering. It was so bad that I threatened to sleep on the sofa, but in the end I curled up on the edge of the bed, longing for clean air!
I had a bad night and I was tired the next day. To add to my troubles Robbie was in a strop because he still smelled. It gradually diminished during the day and by Sunday evening I was longing for a good sleep with no onion fumes, unfortunately that wasn't to be. Robbie can't stay still to save his life, it is like sleeping next to a windmill! 'Radioactive Man' constantly claims to be too hot and he waves his arms and legs about in such an exaggerated way that it could be mistaken for a Kenny Everett impression! The end result is that I always have to fight for my share of the duvet, and last night I was constantly cold because he kept fanning cold air into the bed. Today I am going to acquire two bricks (don't worry, nothing drastic!) I just want to weight my side of the duvet down. Failing that I am going to buy a sleeping bag!
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