Sniff

Sniff sniff? My nose has been tickled and is dancing about as frantically as a bloodhound at a boucherie as I search for the source of this rather, ahem, pungent smell. The obvious culprit or source of this smell was my 2.5 year old son who had recently been potty trained. Egads, the memories of helping him learn to deposit his wealth in the potty rather than in his newly acquired Superman underwear still loomed.

I peered over the cover of his stroller cautiously. "Bonka, Cedric? Have you made a bonka? Do you need the potty?" he shook his head in defiance. I inquired again, insisting but visibly confused, he looked back to me from his perch in the stroller and replied "No potty, I need cookie."

Well, his ability to shift to his more pressing needs using the power of analysis is astounding.

My gaze shifted forward towards the source of the smell - which was now strangely inviting - and was hypnotized by rows and rows of small parcels in a window shop. The diversity in sizes, colors, and texture was simply overwhelming. Some were playfully stacked in colorful packages, others roughly wrapped in newspaper or gently concealed with transparent foil. Many lay open and vulnerable, exposed to the sun. Some leaking their pungent yet strangely delightful fragrance and others tempting with the inevitable.

My first cheese shop en Paris.