I have a crazy sick sense of smell. G tells me I am a bloodhound. Other than using it to sniff out delicious foods from a distance, this abnormality is a pain in the ass. Yes, the aromas are nice; unfortunately, I mostly smell odors. Wretched, foul odors that make me gag. I can smell things several minutes before anyone else can, and sometimes I swear I can make out faint notes of a particular odor, but that has yet to be proven unless I meet another freak of (olfactory) nature.

When I was pregnant, my freakish sense of smell made me want to vomit every hour. This was on top of my double-the-hormones ‘morning sickness,’ which (as everyone who has had pregnancy nausea knows) is a fucking farce — morning, my ass. On one particular day, I lay on the couch moaning to myself while G quietly tried to make his breakfast in the kitchen, a good 20 feet away. He was trying to be sensitive and not make anything too pungent (take that Goddamn toast out of here!). And yet, all I could smell was morning breath. I wanted to wrap a pillowcase around his head to stop any more exhales that were coming at me in 50 mph gusts of wind, blowing ass and garbage with it the whole way. I had to do something. So I shouted, very irritated, “Have you brushed your teeth yet?” Without a word, I saw him walk sheepishly into the bathroom and close the door. Sorry G — it’s the freak nose. You are such a sport. Look at these beautiful kids we produced!

Lately, Bean has been covering her nose a lot with her hand. At first we thought she was playing. (Playing what? We have no idea.) But after awhile, we noticed that she would do it when there was a strong odor nearby — good or bad. I think her sense of smell is kicking in. Is this normal for all kids? Or has the poor Bean inherited my freak nose? When we walk into a restaurant, she immediately covers her nose with her hand and breathes hard in and out, like she doesn’t know what to do or how to fight off this alien attack on her senses. The other day I had some stinky cheese, and as soon as I opened it, she covered her nose and made a face.

Last week we had a guest at our house. In the morning, he sat at our island eating eggs and toast while the rest of us ate our breakfasts and cleaned up. When we were all done, he stayed in his seat, coloring with Buddy. The Bean went to play at the train table. When she walked past our guest, she took a few staggered steps, looked up, and covered her nose, then walked briskly away from him. After that, whenever she got within five feet of him, she did the same thing. Thankfully, he didn’t notice.

After I finished cleaning up, I walked past him and– Jesus, what the fuck is that?? I circled around a few times, and the odor was clearly coming from him. His feet were bare—could it be his stinky boy feet? Gross.

Finally, he finished and left the island. I quickly walked over to his chair to see if I could smell it, and yes, it was still there. Right there, in front of my face, but hidden by crayons and other crap on the island: fucking tabasco sauce. It did smell kind of vinegar-y and rancid! I just thought it was his feet that smelled vinegar-y and rancid. He still had his plate out where he had splashed some of it on his eggs. I picked it up and walked over to the sink. But then, upon second thought… I called The Bean over, and I held that plate up to my daughter’s almost-three-year-old little face and, as if she was a police dog, asked her if that was the smell she was smelling. She immediately snapped her head back. Like any investigative mother, I shoved it in her face again and she backed away slowly, her hand planted firmly on her nose, her face twisted in disgust. Confirmation: tabasco sauce.

Fuck! Poor girl. She doesn’t know what she’s in for.

I suppose I’ll have to try and put a positive spin on it. Like: maybe we’re on ‘the list.’ Are you on the list? Would our bloodhound noses qualify us as heroes with hidden powers? …Okay, maybe not, but pretending to be a hero is a hell of a lot better than smelling your stinky feet. And yes, I can smell them, even from way over here.