Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

With pregnancy, one’s sense of smell becomes heightened. And for me, it is a whole new experience as my nose has never actually been that ‘finely tuned’ anyway.
(I’ve eaten a small heart-shaped bar of soap, thinking it was chocolate because I couldn’t detect its fragrant smell of lavender).

These days, I can smell a bag of Twisties while in a packed hall and detect exactly where that salty aroma is coming from.

The unpleasant thing about my new-found powers is that I’ve become extremely sensitive to distasteful odors.
And when you’re suffering from nausea, ALL smells are distasteful. The succulent smell of hot Hawaiian pizza never failed to tickle my appetite… now, even a slight whiff of it tickles my gag reflex.

And to me, the worse worse WORST smell is that of cigarette smoke.

I’ve never had a problem with it before. I don’t smoke but I used to be a litigator, remember? Cigarette smoke, cigar smoke, pipe smoke… These smells permeated court corridors, bar rooms and client conference rooms. No biggie. Hardly ever noticed the smell.

Now, even a slight hint of cigarette smoke makes me lurch.

I’ve become so sensitive to it, that I can now detect what kind of cigarette brand the odor is coming from. I’ve become so sensitive to it, I can even sense from where it is emanating from, despite the smoker being concealed behind a heavy velvet curtain by a large cement pillar beside a potted plant.

The slight whiff of cigarette smoke triggers an automatic reaction in me.
Immediate nausea and queasiness followed by an irrepressible desire to throw up.

It’s a disgusting smell. Disgusting, revolting, AWFUL smell.

And it triggers a secondary reaction in me.

I start to scheme and plot the untimely death of the smoker.
While I sit there, fanning the air in front of me like a primadonna, my brain will be on full scheming mode.

I fantasize about snatching the villain from his chair, dragging him out by the dark alley; violently grab the damn cancer-stick from his mouth and stuffing it up his left nostril. Then I’d brutally search his pockets for his pack of cigarettes, light each one of ‘em up, and stuff it up his ass, roaring at him “SMOKE ‘EM NOW, BUSTER!!!” while I cram his ears full of lighted matches.

…………….

I’m going to be such a kind, gentle mother, aren’t I?

To paraphrase the government slogan...
Katakan TAK NAK, or die.