something smells

How does the world smell me? Like a flower, generally.

My ex-husband used to call me a "delicate flower." Not that that was a term of endearment. It was actually his way of making a jab at me, a condescending way of pointing out his annoyance at my sensitivity to his cigarette smoking, the crowded streets and subways of NY, my incredibly cruel and emotionally unstable boss, my inability to sleep when the weather got warm due to our apartment vibrating - I mean shaking and making an awful constant pulsing hum so badly that the EPA said it was a bad place to live, and my disgust with the mouse infestation we had in our kitchen. (We threw out a coffee machine because acid from mouse urine had eaten through the wires. I cleaned poop off of our kitchen counters everyday) Oh yeah, speaking of poop, I also did not like the sewage that spewed out of the floor by our toilet bowel.

Why would I not prosper under those conditions?

What made matters worse was when I would try to remedy the problems (call the landlord, take time away from the city, look for a new job or apartment), he would sulk in his smoking corner as if taking action to fix the situation before he was ready to do anything was an attack on him.

Yeah, I'm a "delicate flower." The Rose of the Upper East Side. Who would have thought it could be such a crappy place to live.

How does the world smell me? Like a sun flower, a morning glory, a day lily.