"I smelled you ...."

Joyce just told me that she smelled me ... in the kitchen. Now, such a statement can, of course, be Good News or Bad News. I choose to consider it the former. I was baking some scones this morning (see pic above)--cherry-walnut scones--and they (and I, by association?!?) smell pretty good. Wonderful, really. I smell wonderful.

She had just come down to make herself some tea before heading back up to her study to work on her current writing project. And this is when she told me she smelled me.

There have been times in my life when such an announcement--especially from a female--would not necessarily have meant something flattering. In fact, back in elementary school, smell (noun) could often mean something, well, gross--as in this question Who made that smell? Lies would inevitably ensue.

But, as Joyce explained  this morning, she has come to associate me with the smells of baking. That cannot possibly be anything but good, right? I mean, there are all sorts of other smells we could associate with people--most of them not all that appealing, you know?

Throughout my life, I have been known for other ... aromas. In infancy ... never mind. Later, a very active boy living in the hot Southwest--a very active boy who (thanks to his father's genes) sweat, as we used to say, like a pig--I'm sure I had a smell that had a particularly porcine cast.

In adolescence--hormones bubbling away--I learned from concerned friends that it was time for Stopette (deodorant) and Mennen (after-shave). I subsequently applied deodorant and after-shave (though I shaved only once every couple of weeks, at first) with an abundant generosity.

Here is a link to a 1954 Stopette TV commercial. And, oh, for me? Stopette didn't do squat.

Later, a smoker, a drinker of beer (both of which occupations I abandoned decades ago), I acquired other odors--as did my clothes, our car, etc.

As Old Age has advanced, I've been alert to what, as lads, we used to laugh and sneer and gag at: Old Guy Smell. I don't think it's mere age that causes it. I mean, you don't turn 70 and some gland wakes up from its nap of three-score-and-ten, says It's time to make this old guy reek! No, I think it's more the failure of joints and muscles to obey sufficiently to allow thorough cleaning. That's my story & I'm stickin' to it.

So, anyway, it's nice to be associated with the aroma of baking. And I'm sure, as I approach the Old Guy Smell era, that Joyce is very glad I have a hobby with an appealing ... bouquet. Could be worse. Much, much, much worse.