A writer's blog of the sublime, surreal, repugnant and redeeming.

This is a writer's blog of the sublime, surreal, repugnant and redeeming, my venture into the great unknown and unknowable.

Saturday, October 14, 2023

Owning a Sommelier's nose

have the nose and palate of a Sommelier, and it's getting even more sensitive now with The Pause. That means at least half the houses I walk into and cars I get into smell like egg farts, cigarettes and dogshit. I have absolutely no idea how actual Sommeliers deal with France being France considering that they're in, well...France. Maybe they all just sleep outside in the vineyard gazebo and only come in for the third shower of the day.

I can't really be accused of being a snob just because I have a sensitive palate. I was told that my French great grandfather in Canada put his long johns on in September and didn't take them off until April. Christ, it almost makes me think I got this nose from my First Nations side because I'd rather smell skunk hides and burning cedar than whitefella ass. My Mi'qmaq great grandmother must have held her nose and done it for Jesus.

People get upset when I get honest about how they smell. But I'd rather they stomp off for a shower than me having to swing Catholic frankincense around me all the time to offset the smell of peasants who forget they have crotch, pits, dogs, and vices. Just a note, most of these peasants are hobosexual men who can't even throw themselves and their clothes in a creek once in a while.

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