I don't know how many men tell me they can't smell worth a darn. I'm usually not surprised these days, but for years it just sort of struck me as being so very odd that a man couldn't smell what I was definitely smelling; be it good or bad. I now relive in my mind the many times I would curl my nose upon stumbling into a bad smell, only to see my son, my dad, my son-in-law, just about any man, calmly walking through the musk, the mold, the sewage, whatever putrid odor was invading my obviously more sensitive nostrils. "You can't smell that?" I would ask. To my chagrin, most of the time, they would look blankly at me and ask "What? What am I supposed to be smelling?" Sometimes one or the other will say "Oh, I can't smell anything, never could really." It just makes me wonder about...you know, men.
Women can smell just about anything. I say, women, I should say THIS WOMAN can smell just about anything. My two daughters are far superior to me in that department. Laura can't even go into a craft store or an all-natural food store because of the herbs and various spices being wafted about. She really should be able to somehow harness that ability, maybe see if she could put a freakin' Bloodhound out of work. I don't know if that could be a thing, but if it could a thing she would be really good at it. She's really great at sniffing, I'm really good at detecting. I see it, smell it, feel it, know it, and I'm on it. I have a keen way of not being able to let something go if it's gotten up under my nose and/or spirit. Nope, if it's locked on my radar I will have to hunt down the source; be it a smell or a hunch about something else. We (women) just have a knack I guess - - some better (or worse) than others.
I think I lost a boyfriend over it once. I'm not kidding you. I was making dinner when he came in from the outside world, and as he passed by me to wash his hands I asked him how his mother was. He hadn't told me he had been to see his mom, but I could definitely smell her Charlie by Revlon perfume on him. It's not as if she took a bath in it either, it was just casting a very faint hello at me as he passed. He said she was fine, but all that evening he was upset that I knew he had been at his mom's when he hadn't told me. I don't think it was guilt because I couldn't care less if he was at her place. We got along. It was just that he wasn't comfortable with me knowing something without him having revealed it. Oh well, I guess that's something he never would have learned to live with. I know a lot of things. I've been deducing and thinking thoughts for over 1580 years now...I'm not even a Highlander!
Some people play guitars. Some people know Math. Some people have zero issues with typing over 100 words per minute and they never check to see if they've misspelled something. I am not one of those people, but I can look a man in the eyes and see what I need to see, know what I need to know, and I suppose to some that means I'm a mind reader. Nope, just really good at reading faces, bodies, words, and signs that you're throwing out there, buddy! I'd say it's a gift, but it could just as well be a curse, I suppose. It all depends on the situation.
I was talking about Laura replacing a Bloodhound, I watched a YouTube true crime show last week where a particular Bloodhound was given the scent of a man the cops believed was the killer or could be with the killer at the time someone was killed. The dog was given a relatively old scent, it had been picked up with a sniffing machine in an abandoned car that was left for over six weeks in a parking space about two miles from where the deceased was found. The dog picked up the scent and ran with it. By saying he ran with it, he pulled the handler's arm so hard the man fell on his face, lost the dog, and had to run to keep up. After a few hundred feet the cop's partner took off in the patrol car to follow the dog. The dog ran about two and a half miles before cutting through woods, up a path, through a gate, and into a family holiday party in the back garden of the man's mom and dad. The dog, who had never met the man, sat beside him and stared into his face. For his part, the man was unsure what was happening. He petted the dog on the top of the head and said something like "Hey boy, where'd you come from?" when the police partner(s) showed up and arrested him on suspicion of murder. Good dog indeed.
The man confessed to having been with the killer, and even assisting his friend in disposing of the body. The man did in fact drive the car with the body in the truck, and the killer walked to the area to start digging the grave. The absence of the killer's scent made it that much more possible for the dog to find his mark. I'm not saying Laura could do something that extraordinary, but it does remind me of just how marvelous God is, and how He decides who and what will be gifted and just exactly how they will be. I'm not sure a Collie, German Shepherd, or Great Dane could have completed the task. I just don't know, but what I do know, and what I have known for years, is that I am able to read patterns, gestures, expressions, emotions, and such - - and in reading, I can also detect when someone is both lying or about to lie. That's when I start sighing. I hate it. I hate that I know. I hate that I can't accept this from others and I hate that I tell them what I can't allow. If I tell the truth, and I do, I expect the truth to be told to me.
I have to admit; I have lied in my lifetime. I usually have an out too, a way for others to be able to not tell me what they are thinking and still hold my heart or my friendship. I ask them to pinky-swear with me, and to agree that if they can tell me the truth they will. If they can't do so at this time, they will consider doing so when they can. I just can't take a lie. Put me off and agree to tell me more later, but never, please never lie to me. It hurts too badly. Have you seen those people who can hear a song once and play it on the piano? I'm not like that. Have you heard of those who can see something, then draw it out perfectly either using a pencil, pen, chalk, or whatever medium? I am not that person either. I can write a poem on a dare. I can create a story, a tale, even the basis of a good novel, so maybe smelling good things and smelling really bad things isn't my only useful talent! I hope not.
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