I think there are a lot of smells you might associate with marriage and family. Cooking a turkey at Thanksgiving. Gingerbread cookies at Christmas. The smell of a new TV or car. And there are the close smells like the smell of hair or how Leah’s side of the bed smells just a little better than mine.

There are other smells too. The ones that you inflict. Farts are obvious. When I fart, especially when followed by me fluffing the covers, is hilarious. It’s not funny when Leah does it. It’s gross, frankly. Call me a mysoginist if you will. But this is an area where I do not wish for equality. I want to be the fart master. But I don’t need to bore you with the pungent nature of my derrière. Especially after almonds. Keep me away from almonds.

There are a lot of smells in marriage. And I do enjoy all the good smells. But the good smells are for when you are sad and need a smile. Today, I have a grin and I’d like to share it, as I’m sure you guessed.

The bad smells are special. There is so much anticipation with a bad smell. Whether you are waiting in horror or waiting for someone to inhale. It’s exciting. I won’t say that it’s not a little perverse. It is. But with marriage, comes the desire to share in all the ways you can. At least, that’s the way it is for Leah and I. And I want to tell you about two very special smells.

Leah’s belly button

Let me start by saying that I was forbidden to blog about this. But I figured she was only joking. But if I disappear, call the police. I mean, that’s pretty much a standing order—whether or not Leah has had anything to do with it. There’s been a little extra belly talk around here lately. But that’s just a coincidence.

That’s Leah’s belly button up there. And it’s pierced. It was pierced years and years and years and years ago. I don’t want to insinuate that she’s old, but I’ll let you draw your own conclusions. Anyway, there is some strange reaction between metal and skin when it is the dark crevasse of a belly button that creates an awful smell. It is really something foul. I’ve sniffed it. I know.

And this is the perverse nature of sharing in marriage. I just had to know and—I can’t stress this enough—Leah wanted to share it with me. She often tries to get me to smell it. It’s disgusting. But that’s love.

The geek stink

This smell is all mine, but I know I’m not alone. And it’s not a natural smell. It’s something that takes dedication and work to achieve. No level 1 Paladin is going to achieve this. Only after hours (read: days) of pure geekdom can you achieve this noxious smell of geek. It’s the smell of nerds and geeks. The funny thing is that I don’t always smell like this. In truth, I only rarely achieve this special scent. It’s only when I sit, locked in my office for hours, playing a computer game.

Here’s a couple tips on how you can create your own geek stink:

  • It’s easiest if you don’t shower.
  • Schedule a solid 3-5 hours of gaming time.
  • Pick a game somewhere between hyper-nerd RPG and teenaged-alpha male FPS. Depending on where the game sits in the spectrum will determine how sweet or sour your particular brew will be.
  • Find a small, enclosed room that you can really stew in your juices.

From time-to-time, you can check on your progress by shoving your fingers into your armpit for about five seconds and then do a sniff-test. When you have procurred the right amount of stink, show your wife and she will be incredibly impressed*.

*To date, Leah has never been impressed and usually fights me in order to avoid taking a sniff of my geek stink.