Sense of Smell: or lack of it

My mother was raised in an apartment.  Both of her parents smoked.  As a result, my mother lost her sense of smell.  So it can’t be genetic.  Not that I’ve ever had the most spectacular smelling senses.  But now I don’t seem to have any.  And I actually feel blessed that I don’t. At least at the moment.

           

          I love the smell of fresh baked bread.  Gingerbread.  My husband’s cooking.  I sneeze at the very sight of a candle – although I have enjoyed many fragrances – I do have allergies.  Perfumes, plants . . . don’t even get me started. I wonder if my allergies have dulled my sense of smell over the years and have finally killed it.

          But there’s a lot of smells I don’t miss:  I understand the dog stinks.  I’ll bathe him today.  But I can’t smell him.  I can’t smell the blanket that we’ve washed more often than the dog.  I can’t smell the gross odors when I am cleaning them – and don’t know if I’ve succeeded in making them better or not.  So that’s not good.  But not having to smell bad odors is actually quite wonderful.