When I was six years old, or so, I told someone that I didn’t have a sense of smell. It was my mother, and she didn’t believe me. I don’t hold this against her in the least. It was the 1970s, and we had a different attitude toward those sorts of things.
Also, I was six, and made a lot of stuff up.
It’s not that hard to live without a sense of smell, but not a day goes by when I don’t think about it. Living with two little boys, I’m bombarded with fart jokes, and that’s the least of it. If you think it’s
easy, though, you’ve probably never imagined being anosmic. That is, not having a sense of smell. The truth is that anosmics know we’re missing out on something, but haven’t the foggiest idea of what it is.
Lacking one of the five senses as a kid, I had to come up with coping strategies.