Love it or hate it: Skunk smell

Love itThere’s something ripe, plump, juicy, and metallic about the smell of skunk, like a colossal cross between fermenting tropical fruit and permanent marker. And I can’t quite get enough of it.

My love of skunk has limits. Generally, the stronger the better – like when it’s so pungent your nose starts burning. Yes, burn the insides of my nostrils, you filthy skunk. But it reaches a point where it becomes too strong – like when my dog got blasted once – and then the odor takes on something sinister, something like burning rubber, and it ceases to be pleasant and makes me dry heave.

I’ve loved skunk as long as I can remember. Up until third grade, my mom cooked for our church every Wednesday night. Before and after she prepared the meal for dozens of church folks, my brother and I would play outside by the creek among the cottonwoods. If we got lucky, a skunk would fill the air with its pleasantness. Perhaps my love of skunk is as simple as positive associations as a child. After all, scent and memory are closely tied in our brains.

I can’t quite peg what it is about the smell I love, namely because skunk doesn’t smell like anything else ... well, except for every apartment complex in Durango.

— David HolubHate itHere’s a list of awful things: Donald Trump sucking my toes while sitting in a kiddie pool of chocolate pudding, the Candyman appearing in the mirror while I’m putting eyeliner on, flies descending on my burrito like a biblical plague, tripping down a staircase while attempting a “sexy descent” in front of a crush, and a wet koala screaming outside my window then biting half my ear off when I try to let her in from the rain.

Awful scenarios, all of them. Yet, I would prefer any of these occur rather than having to smell a skunk. Eris forbid actually getting sprayed by one of the lil Pepe Le Pew m-effers.

Skunks are adorable. Necessary to the environment. I just like it when they are absolutely, GD nowhere near me. Their spray smells like malaise and old mayonnaise. Blegh. Hate it.

Patty Templeton