A terrible thing to smaste

I'm feeling a lot better today; my illness seems to be subsiding. There's only one problem: I still can't smell or taste anything.

It's not a major concern. At least not yet. In the short term, I prefer it to having a sore throat or a bad cough.

But I do miss smelling and tasting things. You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. And you don't know if your milk has gone off unless you can smell it.

I'm sure I've said this before, but taste and smell should be amalgamated into one sense. It's stupid to keep them separate. I don't think you can have one without another. There should be four senses: sight, hearing, touch, and smaste.

I hope my sense of smaste eventually returns. I tried smelling some essential oils today. Nothing. I couldn't taste Lucy's delicious dinner. At least, I imagine it was delicious. It looked nice, and it was hot. But that's as far as I can go.

Don't get me wrong - if I had to lose one sense, it would definitely be smaste. I love looking at things, listening to things, and touching things. Like a book of musical carpet samples.

But without smaste, I feel a little bit inadequate. Like if Superman lost his x-ray vision. Sure, he'd still have the strength, the flying, the laser eyes, the bulletproof skin. But he'd miss the x-ray vision. It's an important part of his genetic makeup. And he wouldn't be able to see Jimmy Olsen in the nude.

Which is what he does. Every day.

Superman is a pervert.

It's a bit like me (the loss of an ability, not the perversion).

I can't smell Jimmy Olsen, and it's making me feel uneasy!

I'd quite like to get a guide dog for the hard of smasting. It would be a sniffer dog, I suppose. It could bark once for a good smell, and twice for a bad one. Of course, the overwhelming odour would be of dog (woof woof), dog food (woof woof) and dog shit (woof).

The dog will also taste my food: fennel (woof woof), aubergine (woof woof), dog food (woof).

It will be confusing. The only saving grace will be if I get a special stick like a blind man. It can be neon green or something cool. People will see me walking down the street, and know not to ask me to judge their aftershave, or check their hotdog for poison.

That's Smastey's job. (Smastey is the guide dog)

I'll keep you abreast of any further developments on the smaste front. I'm eating a tablespoon of horseradish sauce every hour, on the hour, and making copious notes. And vomit.

I CAN'T SMELL JIMMY OLSEN, AND IT'S MAKING ME FEEL UNEASY!