Whiff

Gllen says to me this morning, "I think I'm obsessed. With sauteed onions. Mmmmmmm" The last part ended in a growl. Last night he made at least two batches of fried onions - one to go with liverwurst, and the other to go with a chicken wrap.

So, later this morning, I was next to him on the couch and he asks me "Do I smell?" I had to nod yes. "My shirt?" He asks hopefully.

I had to shake my head. "Everywhere. Like onions."

His eyes widen and he looks slightly panicked. "My god, what have I done?"

He then makes me go with him to the bedroom to help him pick out new clothes, since he has obvioulsy destroyed his olfactory nerves and doesn't want to put on anything smelly after he showers. The entire time he is shaking his head and muttering about how he stinks so bad, ate too many onions and why are the onions so good?

He even asked me, "Why do I have to stink so bad?"

I had to tell him the truth... "Because you're a boy."