Since I quit smoking 4 and a half years ago my sense of smell has come back. Some times I wish it hadn't.

When I piled onto the bus with the other lemmings for my thankfully short morning jaunt up Burrard St. to work, my nose was assailed by the pungent odor of cheap perfume. A 50 something woman was sitting there looking quite dishevelled (frizzy hair and a dress that looked slept in) and smelling like a "whore at a picnic" (Thanks to Doreen T for that gem).

The smell was so startling that I winced and gave an involuntary groan. I had to keep my head back for the whole time she was on the bus. I mean, good Lord! Did she just soak herself in that crap? Yuck! Actually I think I can still smell it. It's probably embedded in my nostril hairs and I'll have to get my nose bleached out.

I guess I need to watch out with my olfactory obsessions or I'll end up like Patrick Süskind's character in his novel Perfume.