I am not normal.
In fact, I have entertained the thought that I may actually be superhuman.
My hearing is heightened, I can detect changes in the atmosphere, I can feel things others find imperceptible and so on.
The unfortunate side to these superhuman strengths are how they would make me super vulnerable.

In a freshly painted warehouse, some crooks are fiendishly packing boxes full of stolen jeans. SuperKev bursts through the door in normal-fitting attire.

SuperKev: Stop right there, villians!
Villians: Oh, no! It’s SuperKev!
SuperKev: That’s right, it is me! And you are all going to jai… woah. What’s that smell?
Villians: [glancing to one another] Uh…the place was painted recently? Maybe that’s it? Why?
SuperKev: Don’t the fumes make you feel weird? I think I can actually taste it… and my nose feels numb.
Villians: No, we are okay. We’ve bee…
SuperKev: Do you guys hear that exhaust fan? I think it might have a loose belt.
Villians: [reaching for a pair of pants]
SuperKev: It’s really hot in here too. Wow, I really need some air.

The villians get back to packing as SuperKev slowly exits holding his head.

Do you have some strange quirks that you would dare share on this blog?

I am going to be so bold and say that Pert Plus is one of the greatest inventions of my time.  Think about it.  I have a little travel sized bottle I used on a recent trip… I hopped in the shower and in one process, my hair was washed and conditioned.  BOOM!  You’re done.  Wash and go.
If only I could figure out how to eat and go to the bathroom in one process.  That would make me millions.  Although I guess you could count going to the bathroom with a bag of chips…

One of the best things in the world: when summer rain pours outside bringing about the aroma of fresh earth
One of the worst things in the world: when summer rain pours into my vehicle after I left the windows down and it brings about the aroma of dead worms that lingers for days

When I was a young lad of tender age, I had a pet guinea pig named Heathcliff.  He was shiny and black and made the most terrible noise when he would get excited.  Because I loved him so, I wanted him to experience the world outside his glass pen that I kept in my room — the pen that filled my room with the dirty musky smell of a guinea pig.  I took him from his little prison, cradled him in my arms and then walked out into the bright sunlight of a clear Ohio day.  Heathcliff was stark black against the green grass.  I watched with joy as he nibbled bits of the lush vegetation with much eagerness.  I soon grew tired of it and went inside.  That evening, my mom said that Heathcliff went away.  I was sad.  Years later I found out that when she said “went away”, she meant that the neighbor’s dog had eaten him.