Smelling Spices and Sniffing Closets

Mmmm. Spices. Cinnamon. Oregano. Nutmeg. Cumin. Paprika. And Tarragon. (There are a whole bunch more, but like I am going to list them all.) I saw tarragon in the spice cabinet and hopped on it. (not literally. But that would have been amusing.) Then, tearing through the little containers, I found nutmeg. I wanted to compare the smells. Yeah, great idea. Nutmeg reminded me of pie. Then, tarragon reminded me of hippies. Because it flew up my nose, I spazzed, and my mother began laughing and crowing about how no one has ever been known to snort tarragon before. Being so mature, I let her know (sarcastically) nutmeg does not snort well, so tarragon had to do. Then I got yelled at by a cranky, woken up father. I mean, it's not my fault I write better at night.

Yes, the blame falls on my writing. Cleodentri's story involves tarragon. So, of course I was smelling it. How is that not obvious. Unfortunately, my nose has still not recovered from being attacked by demon leaves.

Somehow, I have been cursed into sniffing a lot more than just food. A skit for my youth group has someone sniffing in a closet. Well, the guy doing this has always reminded me of a dog. As I am supposed to be bored and slightly embarrassed, I am secretly suppressing a great case of the sillies. At one point last night, I ended up joking around and sniffing. As if I don't make a fool of myself already.

My sisters, with their oddness, pulled me into their room and had me sniff around looking for the cat. Do I look like a dog? I think not! (more like a mouse or a mole, I always thought.) So, I am crawling around sniffing, when the closet door flies open in front of my face and I must sniff. Every. Single. Piece of. Clothing.

They need an air freshener.

Now, I have an old abandoned building to creep around. And sniff. For my writing, of course. =]