A kind of mushroomy odour, like shirts put away damp and then left in the drawer too long
You are highly self-reliant, thought that sometimes comes across as arrogant and stand-offish, especially when you announce loudly, “Look how self-reliant I am, idiots!” You have a history of pouring far too much milk for the amount of cereal, and this habit has been a deal-breaker for more than a few relationships. You know how to play several instruments, none of them well. You treat library books with alarming disrespect. You lose your temper when you hear Neil Young’s Harvest.
A hint of cabbage, like there was boiled cauliflower every night for a week, but a month ago
You like to weigh all the possibilities before making a decision, which really holds up the line at Tim’s. Your favourite expression is, “There’s plenty of fish in the sea,” but usually said through gut-wrenching sobs. In 2015, you were this close to sitting next to Jake Gyllenhaal on a flight to Toronto. You worry that you are no longer appealing to the opposite sex, not realizing you were never particularly appealing in the first place. Your feelings of paranoia are well founded.
Cigarette smoke, like, everywhere
You are not afraid to face adversity, despite your diminutive stature and compromised immune system. During your more introspective moments, you have to admit you brought it on yourself, though thankfully those moments are balanced by the seemingly infinite number of other people to blame. Your hair gets tangled in ceiling fans with surprising frequency. Squirrels and chipmunks feed right out of your hand. You’re beginning to question the whole concept of monogamy. You no longer have much in the way of taste buds. Damn right you’ll have another drink!
Cloying flowery smell, like fabric softener or one of those plug-in air fresheners, a real migraine-inducer
You enjoyed a promising career as a highly successful radiologist, even making the cover of X-Rave magazine (“The Nation’s Top Radiologists: An Inside Look”) until you lost all your toes to frostbite while hiding inside a chest freezer – a prank gone horribly, horribly wrong. As a result, you cannot stand steadily on your feet due to Chronic Wobble Syndrome, thus curtailing your career. You now offer university guest lectures entitled “Advances in Radiology” and “10 Signs That You Shouldn’t Trust Your So-Called Friends.” You dress well but always have garlic breath.
Like when you open the fridge, and there’s a poorly covered tin of kidney beans in there you forgot about
“Agenda? We don’t need no stinkin’ agenda!” you scoff, and then you hold your staff hostage for an hour as you go on a series of work- and non-work-related tangents, none of them ever satisfactorily resolved. You are not as adept as you think you are at hiding personal expenses in the company account. Your supposedly ironic fashion comes across as merely tasteless, and you’re mediocre at best in bed, ask anyone. You have a knack for unravelling tangled telephone cords, a knack that, alas, is less and less frequently pressed into service. You are chronically guilty of vaguebooking.
Overpowering smell of bleach
You are overcautious and easily offended, though these qualities have allowed you to rise to positions of prominence on several volunteer school committees. You have a morbid fear of being poked by wire brushes. You “collect” restaurant sugar packets, but really it’s just small-scale hoarding. You believe in several of the lesser conspiracy theories. You dislike the word “grout.” You don’t trust best-before dates. You are active on Twitter.
You don’t sweat the small stuff; you just sweat. People often use the word “exude” around you, usually but not always in a positive way. You’ve done a lot of community theatre. You give coins and unsolicited advice to homeless people. You have never owned a new car, you announce proudly. You are only comfortable in sandals and cargo shorts. On too many occasions to count, you have accidentally used someone else’s toothbrush and then laughed it off. You closely follow the careers of the other members of Destiny’s Child. Birthday parties are kind of your thing. You’ve got a little something on the corner of your mouth. No, other side. Got it.
A mix of cloves and lavender, plus sort of a low-grade curry smell
You were homeschooled; you had no friends.