Welcome to Stinky Town

The grocery aisle is a good barometer of the state of the Union. If the "home fragrance" aisle at my local Bloom store is any indication, my house is probably has stage four stinkyness -- which requires a hazmet suit.  

Right now, my smell de jour is an alternating scent of Berry Paradise and Melon Mist. The odor sommeliers at Febreze have this to say "Berry Paradise scent has notes of luscious ripe red raspberries and blackberries  and Melon Mist's fresh, sweet blend of cucumber and melon scent is enhanced by undertones of citrus and apple.  

Notes and undertones?  I'm going to build a scent cellar and wait until these vintage smells ripen. Frankly, after using these products, my home smells as if a den of incontinent Snuggle Bears died and decomposed in my bathroom. The industry and sheer pluck that used to go into building rockets at NASA is now devoted to finding "odor delivery devices."

There are sprays, scented oils, flameless candles, outlet fans, night lights, a device that dispenses wisps of scent every few seconds and finally, a compact disc that "plays" your scent from a machine.  I have the nose of a bloodhound, so even a single wisp will put me into a Von Bulowish-like diabetic coma.  

Some companies are even advertising air fresheners that don't look like air fresheners.  So, that knock-off Rodin sculpture is really an overly expensive Berry Paradise and Melon Mist dispenser. Even the scents are becoming more arcane.  No more pine, it's "Country Cotton" or Saturday afternoon under a ripe Cherry Blossom." Apparently, "Sewage Technician" didn't make the cut.  What's wrong with "Sweaty Road Crew Worker?"  Or "Luke Warm Asparagus Water?"

We're a country obsessed with smells, an insight reinforced by a TV commercial I saw last night.  Now the smell czars are hawking "Clinical Strength" deodorant.  It's good to know that I could be on the surface of the Sun and my underarms arms will be a dry as a saltine cracker while the rest of my body vaporizes as fast as a Spielberg-like Nazi gazing at the ark.

Hey, I'm no virgin to the world of cloying odoriferousness.  While in high school, I worked at a candle factory in my hometown in New England.  I reeked of cranberry- pine cones for over five years.  This did not attract women, but I did have a loyal following of pesky squirrels and an overly amorous dog named Humper. I had to take out  a restraining order.

Well, gotta go, my hazmat outfit just arrived and it has a great new smell.  Oxygen. Ah, the good life.