Aida the stinky

I recently started the workshop part of the 90 Days to Your Novel book. It’s no coincidence that the first assignment would be so connected to love. Since I haven’t kept my promise to write daily posts about all the love in my life, I’ve decided to share with you the results of my assignment, one by one. Starting with Aida, the stinky. I know, this is not an obvious connection to love, but have faith. You’ll see what I’m talking about.

Grandpa George and grandma Rosario had a friend called Aida. From what I can remember, I think Aida was nice to me in general, even though my mom claims they were never quite fans of each other. Who knows? I was a kid, so whether or not this woman despised my mom because my dad had – for the second time – chosen to marry someone else over Aida’s daughter was decidedly off my radar. Besides, I was wildly distracted by Aida’s smell.

Dear lord. The woman had the funniest, most repelling smell ever. It wasn’t a problem of hygiene, I don’t think. I think it was just a matter of using a perfume that clashed with her pheromones. Whatever it was, I could never fathom why on earth no one had bothered to tell her it smelled so, so bad. Like bad. Like dead flowers in a vase bad. Like I imagine President Snow would smell, especially with that white rose on his lapel. The worst of it was whenever she saw me, all she wanted to do was hug me. Over and over again because she just couldn’t stop gushing over the little girl that almost was her granddaughter, but not. And thank the heavens I wasn’t because no living grandma should ever smell that bad. Ever.

One year I couldn’t take it any longer, so I told my mom how much I thought this lady stank and asked how she never noticed. My mom, who has the most sensitive nose in the world, said she never had and immediately started laughing. After that, she always had a hard time keeping a straight face whenever Aida was around.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s