Last weekend, while innocently walking down the hallway of my
home, I was nearly suffocated by an odor of unknown origin. My eyes
teared up.
Last weekend, while innocently walking down the hallway of my home, I was nearly suffocated by an odor of unknown origin. My eyes teared up. My nose passages started to close in protest of the unknown scent. And I could only scream one word as the world went black …
“JUNIOR!”
Yes, my child was the source of the unknown odor. Frankly, as the mother of a boy, I have become used to the odors that boys can produce. Once that child started on solid foods, my nose went into hiding. But this odor was different.
Oh, it was still nauseating, but not because it smelled bad. Nope, this was sickening because it smelled good. Which is just exactly as weird as it sounds. You see, it used to be that Junior was an ordinary 11-year-old boy. And he smelled like every other 11-year old boy on the planet. And by that I mean he smelled exactly like the dog does after she’s had a bath, then gone outside to joyfully roll around in her own doo-doo. Look, just because I’ve never caught Junior rolling around the back lawn doesn’t mean he doesn’t smell like he’s been doing it.
In fact, I have long held the belief that the biggest differences between boys and girls – other than a couple of obvious ones, of course – was that boys stink and girls bathe regularly. I even developed my own scientific theory that the noses of most boys, having smelled dirty PE clothes, stinky shoes and dirt for generations had evolved to a point where the male nose didn’t smell anything until the age of 21.
How else do you explain the young male’s fondness for gas passing contests? No nose can survive that kind of abuse on a regular basis. A nose’s only choice would be to close up the smell factory until a boy is old enough to realize that showers are not horrifying torture chambers. They are places to get clean so you can smell nice.
But that theory was shot to you-know-where the minute my son asked for his first deodorant. I have to admit, I was shocked at first, then elated. I was going to be able to hug my son without wearing a clothespin. I would be able to sit next to him and breathe through my nose. It was a glorious moment in motherhood, I’ll tell you.
And then he decided to get body spray. Now, I should have been afraid. But I’m naïve. I thought anything with the words “body” and “spray” in them had to smell good. Oh, please. I should have known that actual control of the amount of spray was going to be an issue. In fact, I should have known this inside Target, where Junior was “testing” all the body sprays. Within seconds the entire aisle smelled like a … well, let’s just say it smelled strong. Very, very strong. Stronger in fact than normal boy-stink.
But I didn’t let that deter me. I mean, my child wanted to smell good. Could it be, did I dare hope that his next request would be to take an actual shower and use soap? It was almost too good to be true. Actually, it was too good to be true, because after choosing a body spray, Junior also requested the shower gel and deodorant in the same scent.
Oh joy! Oh rapture! The days of spraying Febreeze in the playroom and bathroom would soon be over. I nearly danced to the Target checkout and paid. And that night, when my son asked to take a shower, I was so happy. For years prior to that, getting Junior to take a shower had required a complex method of threatening to take away his Wii for 25 years and/or screaming, “just take a shower … WITH RUNNING WATER” at the top of my lungs.
But after the shower, he used the body spray. A lot of body spray. But I was so happy that he smelled good that I ignored it. And then, when his friends came over, they’d use the body spray too. And pretty soon, I had to start using Febreeze in the playroom again because the odor of body spray was overwhelming. Suddenly, there was too much of a good thing being sprayed around.
But there’s hope. Right after my near-suffocation, I overheard my son say to his friend, “Maybe we’d smell better if we didn’t spray so much on.” I can only dream.
