As The Stomach Turns
It’s funny how easily your stomach turns its nose up at odors you once found pleasant but now abhor. A couple of nights a week, hubby pops himself a beer. Nothing wrong with that. He can handle alcohol and finds that one beer is enough — just enough to relax him after a long day at work.
When it’s time for bed, I check the darned kitchen sink one last time so I can start the morning off fresh without facing stacks of dirty dishes. I hear you asking, “What’s wrong with your dishwasher?” Well, it needs fixing, but you usually don’t wash beer cans in one, right? Right!
Anyway, hubby usually rinses out his empty beer can — ready for recycling — but sometimes he forgets. On those occasions when the can is staring me in the face and I have to rinse it, well, the bloody awful beer smell emanating from that beer can makes me wanna retch.
A Reformed Drinker?
I’m behaving just like a reformed smoker. I wonder if there’s a saying out there too, for “a reformed drinker”? There probably is.
My point is, over two decades ago, there was nothing nicer to me than the smell of a fresh cold beer. Now? Ugh. In fact, my nose is even crinkling up at the mere thought of it! I’ve associated that beer stink with something gross. And that’s a somatic marker in the making. What’s a somatic marker? I touch upon the basic premise here.
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