The Mystery of the Maple Syrup Smell
There was no doubt about it: she woke up smelling like waffles. A writer tries to get to the bottom of an enigmatic aroma.
It all started at the gym. I was jogging on the treadmill, a mile in, when a plume of saccharine-sweet perfume overwhelmed me. I looked to my left—a young coed with mascara-coated eyelashes, in a pink tank top, pushed into motion. Who puts on body spray before working out? I silently scoffed, continuing my run with sugar snaps and syrup-saturated waffles revolving in mind. Twenty minutes later, she hopped off of her machine, but the smell remained. I sniffed. It was me. I was the one that smelled. I reeked
