making scents

last night, while drying off after taking what seemed like a thousand-year shower, BC turned to me and asked, “mama, do i smell bad?” clearly, my delightful little seven and a half year old is ready to embark on those lovely questions which must never be answered truthfully — questions like “does this dress make me look fat?” and “do you love me?”

she smelled divine, like a little blueberry, thanks to the half-gallon of shampoo she poured on her head, her body, and probably on the walls of the shower. “why are you asking me that?” i asked in return.

“adriana told me i smelled bad,” she said with a pout. i know a lot of BC’s little friends. this name was new to me.

“who is adriana?”

“she’s one of the more “fashionable” (she said while putting little quotation marks in the air – has she learned quotation marks yet?) girls in school.”

“well, i don’t know much about her, but you don’t smell bad, and i would tell you if you did, now, wouldn’t i?”

“yes, mama.”

“what a mean thing for someone to say, that you smell bad. is this girl someone you want to be friends with?”

BC sighed. “well, she was nice to me later on this afternoon. she hangs out with a bunch of other girls.”

“well, i don’t need to be around anyone who tells me i smell bad. if she starts being nice to you, that’s one thing. if she tells you that you smell, well, i would just tell her that you aren’t interested in talking to her unless she has something nice to say.”

“mama, do i smell?”

“honey, not today. ”

yep. teen angst. it starts at seven now.

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