You know how when things get old, they begin to smell a
little? I think that’s starting to happen to me. Don’t worry, I still bathe and
buy deodorant, but if I go just one extra day without washing my hair, at some
point during the day while getting into my car or throwing my purse over my
shoulder at the grocery, I will catch a whiff of that subtle scent; the one
that tells you, “you-should-have-definitely-taken-the-time-to-shampoo-this-morning.”
I duck and head toward the closest door and hope there is not a cloud swirling
about my head a là Pig Pen in the
Peanuts comic strip. The one that makes everyone take a few steps away from
you.
Many years ago, one of my girlfriends fixed me up on a date
with a man who was about ten years older than me. Going out with an older man
didn’t bother me . . . until we sat next to each other all night at a bar. It
wasn’t the smoke, or the spilled beer or all the forlorn ladies doused with cheap
perfume that got to me. It was this man’s smell. Not bad, not good, just . . . present. A pervasive
scent of what I decided was bachelorhood; flannel shirts that needed to be
washed more frequently than say, once a month.
It makes sense doesn’t it? At some point it’s not worth
washing those bath towels anymore because they’re old and they smell. Off
you go to Target for a couple of brand new sets to hang in the bathroom. (We’ll
talk about how you don’t walk out of Target with only bath towels another
time.) This happens to everything that gets old; clothing, food, furniture,
shoes, buildings. Everything that gets old smells. Why not people?
You think I’m trying to be funny, but there is Science
to prove it. It seems that the scent of older folks is as tied to our
biological origins as the sex drive and the fight or flight reflex. From a
study by Johan
Lundström of the Monell Chemical Senses
Center, humans may be able to recognize age by odor as a way "to
distinguish the sick from the healthy—not overt sickness, but underlying cell
decay," he says. "The older we get, the more natural decay we have."
See that? He actually said “decay.” Like when you’re walking
through the park in October, taking a deep breath and thinking, “Ah, the smell
of Fall!” but what you’re really smelling is decay. Those beautiful orange, yellow
and red leaves are dying and we can smell it.
We humans don’t have nearly the highly developed nostrils that
dogs, horses and other animals have, but we do pick up important information
from our noses. Am I right, mothers? Do we know practically to the teaspoon how
much beer our kids drank as they propel themselves through the door late on a
Friday night? We ground with confidence. But not only mothers; women all over
the world use their noses to divine the who, what, how and where of any given
excuse. Men do not have this faculty; as soon as you ask, “Can you smell that?”,
the male of the species shrugs his shoulders and says, “What rotting bananas?”
It is slightly discouraging to realize that my body, it’s
cells and pores could be in a state of decay. But, as I said it makes sense. (Scents?)
These days, those of us 50ish and over have the opportunity to be in the best
shape of our lives. I had lunch with a sixty-something woman recently who said
she felt the best she’s ever felt after using a nutritionist to lose 42 pounds
and learn how to drink more water. Another sixty-ish friend sat at my kitchen
table and practically glowed from her recent two-week hiking vacation, even
though we were Googling our recently prescribed prescriptions. We may be
decaying . . . and smelling . . . but we can be healthy and look good doing it.
And if I forget to wash my hair one day, I can always go hang out with a bunch
of old guys.
