Lip Gloss - around 2003

My oldest daughter’s latest present was a lip-gloss that has been driving me crazy. Every time she applied that goop – which is apparently necessary on an hourly basis - I could almost taste a memory that would boil up from the recesses of my mind and demand, “What IS that smell?”

My daughter has lip-glosses that have the power to invoke a whole plethora of childhood memories with one whiff.
- Like the time one of my four older brothers talked me into trying Vanilla extract.
- Or the time they told me that snuff was just shredded black licorice.

Those tubes may smell divine, but apparently lip-gloss manufacturers still haven’t figured out how to make their product taste as good as they smell. "What IS that smell?"

She wouldn’t tell me. She wanted me to guess. I had been guessing for days without any luck. It was almost like the times you can’t remember a word that you know you know, that’s just stuck there on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t yank that thing OUT! Chinese water torture comes to mind.

This wasn’t the usual berry-fruity concoction. This one smelled like a warm baking oven. Like a gooey-nutty ice cream topping. Like an old fashioned kitchen. Like something that I just could NOT put my finger on. "What IS that smell?"

I would be driving somewhere while she used the passenger side flip-down mirror as her own personal boudoir, and ask, “Mocha Almond Fudge?” “Nope” she replied.
“Almond Praline?” “Nope” she said with a twinkle.
“Toffee Crunch Bar?” “Praline Pecans?” She would just smile back.
One of us was enjoying this enormously.

The next Sunday morning, as we sat in the quiet of our church, that tantalizing aroma wafted over into my end of the pew. Unknown aromas are NOT conducive to serious religious meditation. "What IS that smell?"

After the sacrament, Jamee’s 12-year-old, sugar-holic brother Jared, came to sit with our family. When it comes to any known sweetener on earth, Jared has the nose of a bloodhound. If his olfactory glands could be re-trained for drugs or explosives, he could personally bring down the entire terrorist networks of the world.

Jared can, and attempts too, consume his weight in sugar on a daily basis – all the while continuing to remain stick skinny. It is just SO unfair - but let’s not go there – things could get ugly.

Jared sat. He took two quick wiffs of the air. He leaned over and with a puzzled frown on his face (we were in church for corn sake) he asked, “Why do I smell waffles?”

MAPLE SYRUP!

Officially the name is “Dream Café”. Like I would have EVER guessed THAT!

I should probably have apologized to the VERY confused mother of the small infant sitting behind us. I was NOT referring to her baby when I LOUDLY blurted out, in a VERY quiet church:

“THAT’s what that smell is!”