Smokin'

Last night, I decided to BBQ for dinner. While I prepped the corn, Brian went out to set up the grill, which included adding a fresh batch of wood chips to our little smoker box. I thought nothing of this, as we’ve smoked things before. So, I throw on the meat and veggies, set my timer and throw the Frisbee for the dogs until it’s time for the meal’s first rotation. But when I open up the cover, I am flooded by a wave of smoke. My eyes are burning and I’m blinking frantically to restore myself and get back to the task at hand. This repeats until the food is ready.

After dinner, I get a bee in my bonnet to go pick up something at Toys-R-Us, so we head out. But now I realize that I reek. It smells like I was doused in liquid smoke and I share this news with Brian. I exclaim, “Man! I stink!” To which he responds, “No, you smell like smoke. It’s delicious.” I retort, “I don’t want to smell like smoke. I’m going to make people hungry! And if I can smell myself, the smell must be really bad.” This type of dialogue continues intermittently throughout our shopping trip. Sometimes, it’s simply my own musings about how bad I smell, but often Brian chimes in to reassure me that it’s not that bad. But I know he’s wrong.

We then go to check out. After I exchange a few pleasantries with the cashier, she immediately turns to her coworker and asks, “What’s that smell?” Then she looks at me with imploring eyes. I ask, “Does it smell like smoke?” And she says, “Yeah, it kind of does.” With a sheepish grin, I open my yap and say, “Yeah, that’s me. Sorry.” I briefly explain the whole smoke-gets-in-my-eyes grilling experience and, although she’s polite about it, I can see that guilt-ridden expression one gets when they ask a woman when she’s due only to discover she’s not pregnant. It’s like my life has turned into a sitcom. Awkward.

When we finally walk out the door, I start chuckling. I can’t help it. I turn to Brian and say, “I told you I smelled bad! That poor woman!” He maintained his stance that I smelled delicious, but I couldn’t take it any more. I tried to simply strip off the smoke-infested clothes, but it wasn’t enough. A shower was in order, but even after the scrubbing, I continued to catch faint whiffs of smoke throughout the evening. Now, two showers later, I think I have finally cleansed myself of the stench. I’m all for being smokin’, but next time I think I’ll leave the literal smoke behind.