Sense of Smell

Do you know what I am talking about here? Ladies, I think you must.

In an effort to be a stellar best friend, I spent the night with Courtney at her parents house on Saturday because she was looking after their dog while they took her grandparents back to South Carolina. She didn't want to stay in the big house alone, and has granted me this favor several times when Mark was out gigging, so I really couldn't turn her down. The tricky part was we still have three puppies at home and we couldn't leave them alone. Mark was going to have to stay behind this time.

I hate spending the night away from him. Even if I am in my own bed, it's still not the same. I miss curling my feet around his, preparing myself for sleep; curling into "my nook" with his arm cradled around me, but most of all, I miss his smell. It's the signature of my sleep, and I do not fare well in a nocturnal state without it. I have gotten far too used to, or spoiled, if you will, by his scent.

Nothing comes close to it. It's the essence of him, or maybe of us, that lulls me to sleep every night. Scent is a powerful thing. It makes us comfortable. I never got comfortable on those 700 count sheets, in the queen size bed that night. Not even with the 12 pillows I had tucked around me for "fake" support. I missed Mark and nothing was going to make me feel better.

I came home early Sunday morning. The first thing I did? Curled up on his lap while he was playing video games and took a nap. I breathed in his scent and drifted happily off to la la land...