That shirt
A few weeks ago, I regained much of my sense of smell. It came back suddenly, and I am quite pleased with its return.
I noticed the return on a Saturday, when Kris and I were working outside. It seems like we're always working outside on weekends now, trying to catch up with the weeds, maybe actually conquer them. Maybe with a small army, we'll actually succeed. Maybe.
That day, I noticed the smell of the citrus flowers. Those flowers were the most pleasant, most wonderful flowers I think I have ever smelled.
That evening, with Kris asleep as I crawled into bed, I snuggled close to him, buried my nose into his neck and inhaled deeply. The smell of Kris is the most wonderful, most incredible smell ever. Ever. It's the one smell I desperately missed when I lost that sense. I was thrilled to have it back, and fell asleep holding him close.
A week or so ago, a teammate loaned me a shirt after practice. He had worn the shirt at practice, so it, too smelled. Since I used it at the end of practice, I brought it home to wash. It surfaced Mt. Laundry tonight, so into the washing machine it went. When I took it out of the dryer to fold clothes, I brought the shirt up to my nose, mostly out of curiosity: had I washed the shirt well?
Well, it didn't smell clean.
Instead, it smelled like a man who successfully competed in an athletic endeavour. It smelled of sweat, and effort, and success, and, well, let's just say, if I weren't with Kris, I know who I'd be trying to have sex with tonight.