The house reeks of protein. You know the smell. Think liver.
Yup, the wife is in the kitchen making chicken liver pate. I don't go near the stuff but most of our friends gobble it up. I get the willies (and the heebie-jeebies) just thinking about that crap. I'm up here working on a novel but the smell is beginning to infect the story. Thank heaven for Febreze. And beer.
There are a number of seasonal (so-called) treats I can't abide. Eggnog and certain soft cheeses spring immediately to mind. Also Gin and Tonic. Maybe it's because my first throw-up happened with gin. I don't recall all the particulars, but my high school buddies had to take me to the laundromat and wash my clothes. (I'm still embarrassed about the damage I rendered to the upholstery of Billy's car.)
They say smell is the strongest trigger for memory. So....
I'm just glad my parents weren't into liver. That might well have ended my writing career before it began.
3 weeks ago