If this article reeks, blame aromatherapy.Start by complaining to my wife. She bought this bottle of Focus Oil, which its New Zealand maker says is a blend of bergamot, lemon and cinnamon essential oils that should "promote clarity of thought." The label also claims its "'energising.'" Note the manufacturer uses a Kiwi-fied spelling to show authenticity of the product's origin and it also put the word in quotation marks to indicate it either is trying to be folksy or is letting you in on the joke.
Anyway, in the name of science and desperation to finish this article, I'm huffing these holistic vapors today like … uh … like … um -- (SNORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT … ahhh) -- like Tommy Chong at a marijuana farm brushfire.
Whoa. Duuuuuude! You see that?
The duty of filling our home with scents other than Windex (the cleaning people), spilled beer (me) and the funk of the unwashed (the kids) belongs solely to my wife. The reason she first began these relentless burnings of scented candles and warming bowls of liquefied salad seasons remain a mystery, however, I can offer three guesses:
• Her first whiff of our Labrador retriever fresh from the rain
• An attempt to delay the changing one of the kids' diapers until I showed up
• Five-bean chili night
Whatever. All I know is nowadays the rest of us have to live with the stench.
Yes, I said stench.
The occasional hit of lavender at the spa, in a bubble bath or on a laced-trimmed silken negligee as it mingles with a warm summer breeze as it rises with the musky essence of her … umm … uh … wait … (SNEEEEENX SNORT SNORRRRRRT … brrrbrrrbrrr) -- is heavenly.
But most every weekend, My Love pours another vile vial of Lavendula phewitreeksalotis or something into a porcelain cup on the kitchen counter and shoves a lit tea candle under it to smolder.
For 16 hours straight.
When the wind's right and the windows open, the neighbors must think we have a renegade band potpourri fairies partying in our house. The overwhelming fumes makes a guy want to head outdoors for fresh-air activities like picking up a week's worth of doggie doo.
Hold the phone.
That sneaky woman of mine!
I'm not saying there isn't any sense in scents. Smell gives us the ability to taste beyond the tongue's basics of sweet, sour, bitter, salty and the all-powerful savory (think: grillllled meeeeat). Studies have shown scents to be a more powerful memory trigger than sight or sound. And no one can ignore several findings over the years by the Smell & Taste Treatment and Research Foundation in Chicago that nothing gets a man's blood flowing -- you know, down there -- like the universally sexy, sensual aroma of pumpkin pie, doughnuts and licorice. (Obviously, Coco Chanel and Donna Karan aced marketing in school but flunked chemistry.)
However, too much of even a good smell can be bad thing. For example, back when I worked for a national homebuilder during the boom years, our sales teams would run a bread maker or a miniature cookie oven in the model homes to create a cozy, inviting atmosphere that would entice buyers. Look where that got us.
Home mortgage crisis!
Wall Street meltdown!
Unemployed communications professionals overusing exclamation points!
Hold it. Do you smell that?
It smells like … (SNUKUKUKUKX sniff sniff SNIIIIIICKERS) "the end."
Stamford native Kevin McKeever, a married father of two, is a freelance writer and editor. He also writes the humor blog, Always Home and Uncool, and is a contributor to DadCentric.com. He spent 10 years as a reporter and editor for local newspapers, another nine creating and running the employee communications program for a Fortune 200 company, and then he wised up.
His humorous view of health and wellness, "Rubbing It In," will be featured regularly in future issues of Aetherial Living.
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