Friday, June 24, 2011

Scent of a Woman

She doesn’t know it, but my daughter has me wrapped around her little finger.

At least, I don't think she knows it.

She'll be fourteen in a few months. Unlike some of her peers (it seems to me), she still has a lot of little kid inside of her. At the same time, she is a responsible young woman. This pleases me greatly.

I've written about her elsewhere on this blog.

The other day I found a pair of gloves in the garage. I didn't recognize them and figured they belonged to one of my daughter's friends. Daughter and friend happened to be in the house at the time, so I asked. No, the friend replied. They're not mine.

"I think they're Mom's," my daughter said. I didn't think so, because I didn't recognize them. So my daughter took them and gave them a sniff. "Yeah," she said. "They're Mom's."

"You can tell by smelling them?" I asked, incredulous.

"Sure! I can smell her lotion."

The utter certainty in her voice impressed me, and I accepted her judgment.

She went on: "I know what you smell like, too!"

I've always known my wife has a bloodhound's sense of smell. My daughter appears to have it, too. I think most women do – as much as I hate to generalize.

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