Olfactory erotica... 

You may remember a few posts ago when I was talking about my picky eating habits...and if you don't remember, please, by all means, go and read it again...

I'll wait...


Okay, now that we're caught up, I have to tell you that my picky habits have absolutely nothing to do with dessert. A healthy coating of chocolate could get me to ingest anything...even things that aren't considered food: Chocolate-covered rocks, turds...even pork chops. And I hate pork chops.

As I've mentioned before, I live and work near the downtown market. It's usually bustling with old people tourists who knock you over with their ample fannies and considerably more ample fannie packs (aside: I wonder why they went with the name "fannie pack" and not "ass satchel." It's catchier. Kind of rolls off the tongue). In between dodging the fogeys with ass satchels, you catch intermittent whiffs of what I call "hardcore pornography of the nose."

Candy and ice cream shops. Their scent is an amalgamation of waffle cones, pralines, and candied pecans. It draws you in like a scented siren song and takes hold until you can't quite remember where or why you were trying to be anywhere but the place you find yourself in.

Funny how a smell can make you feel like that. I'd even pay for it.
They could have little seedy shops with tinted windows on the outskirts of town... with private smelling booths. I'd go.

But luckily it's a free indulgence that's only steps out my front door.


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