Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Smell My Flat

My husband and I live in a tiny studio flat in a university residence. For the most part this is fab, as it allows us to live in a great area (3 blocks from Hyde Park...I know you're jealous) without paying through the nose for rent. We've lived in some pretty cramped quarters before, so we're pretty used to not having any space. This may seem like an odd existence for a Canadian and an American. Our home countries are enormous, and allow for people to live in giant homes, drive giant cars, and to spread themselves out (especially around the girth). But despite its size, our flat is home, and we've gotten used to its odd quirks.

Except for the bathroom. I am still perplexed by the loo. Living in residence means that we are in close quarters with other students. Students who are noisy (though luckily it is only for Master's and Doctoral students, so not too noisy) and students who cook for themselves. And one of those kitchens must vent directly into our bathroom because every time I go in there, it smells like somebody's been cooking up a storm. It's not exactly... uh, inspiring...if you know what I mean. As far as I'm concerned, a bathroom should be devoid of any smells except for maybe soap. We have to keep the door shut all the time, or the scent wafts into the whole apartment. Of course, this just saturates the smell in the bathroom. Every time I open the door, it's something new. Yesterday it was roast beef. The day before that it was pizza. Oddly enough today it smelled of rice. I didn't even know rice had a smell, but there it was in my bathroom, the unmistakeable smell of rice.

Well, it's obviously clear that this NaBloPoMo thing is harder than I thought, when I start griping about weird smells. Like those weird people who ask you to smell their hand to see if it smells bad (which it obviously does, or they wouldn't be asking). Or like my brother who, as a little boy, used to come up to you, blow hot breath at your face and say, 'smell my breath!'


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