Something Stanks.

Earlier this week I got a text from Marcus. He was at school and forgot to pack a lunch. We are newly married, and thus, newly poor. I felt sorry for my hungry hubby so I decided to uncover myself from books and papers, crawl out of my study den and go downstairs to make him something yummy to eat when he got home.

I opened our cupboards with high hopes of something gourmet, but alas, on our tight budget we did not have much to work with. It was time to bust out the crock-pot (my first time!)and make a stew. I chopped up brown potatoes and red potatoes (if you recall we do live in Idaho) carrots, chicken broth, and cream of mushroom soup…and then I saw it--the onion Marcus had requested to go in the crock-pot stew. When I consented to the purchase I figured he would be here to chop it up. You see, I do not cut onions.

I have a smell problem. My sister-in-law, Becky, who I love and trust very much, once diagnosed me a ‘Super-taster.’ I can taste and smell things to the extreme and for days to come. It is a curse to say the least. I LOVE garlic bread, breadsticks, artichoke dip, etc. but I do not eat them because I only enjoy them for the few minutes they are in my mouth and then for up to 3 days later I can taste them in my throat and smell in on my hands, others tell me I am imagining it, but I know it’s real. As sure as I am typing this post, it‘s there.

The choice was before me, would I please my hungry husband by adding the onions he loves so much, or plea ignorance when he inquires on the matter…

Tears.

My choice was made.

I am now crying, chew as I may, the gum trick is not working on this onion virgin. I chopped as awkwardly and as quickly as one could, I did not wish Mr. Onion develop any sort of fondness for me, as I certainly wanted this to be the last time I ever touched him.

Into the pot the choppings went and I thought I had survived. There were few enough of them that it only added a nice flavor without getting stuck on my breath.

That night I brushed my teeth and with a full belly I lay down content. What a kind choice I had made, a choice with no ill-consequences.

But wait, could it be? Was that onions I smelled? I looked for the culprit. It was not in my throat, nor in that of my dears.

Then I found it.

My hands. They were malodorous beyond compare! I jumped out of bed and ran for the sink. Scrub, scrub, scrub to no avail. I lathered sweet lotion all over, but it was still there. Rubbing alcohol, but no, nothing could relinquish it, only slightly did it fade.

I would have to move on with life, faintly crippled by the smell only I could distinguish.

Two days went by and though dimmed, still present.

I could not sleep, so I went in the bathroom and found the clippers. My mind needed to purge something. Some part of my hand must suffer for the agony I was facing. I clipped my nails as short as I could get them and crawled back in bed with little hope that anything had changed.

And then, peace spread upon me. I was not sure why but I felt more relaxed than I had for days. With some apprehension I raised my hand up to my nose. Nothing. I was cured. The onion juices had seeped their hideous odor into my nail and my body knew how to annihilate its ugliness. I followed my instincts and they served me well.

I slept with a smile on my face that night, and bought a food chopper next morn.