We had a lovely rain last night, and this morning everything was coated in dew and damp. The petunias in the park smelled just like the jars of cocooning caterpillars I kept as a child. That�s neither here nor there.

Petunias, I propose, are awful flowers. They�re so blatant and cheery, wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Where is the mystery? The subtlety? Even their odor is big. I hate them. Give me the moon flower (Angel�s Trumpet, Datura, Jimson weed) any day. Telling, perhaps, that it�s actually a highly toxic weed masquerading as a flower. But it�s no petunia. Why, I�d even prefer marigolds or daisies to a simple old petunia.

Speaking of smells, my china cabinet smells precisely like the old log cabins at Lincoln�s New Salem.

I want the new apartment to smell nice. Jeremy and I successfully eradicated the musty old people smell from the living room by tearing down the ancient wallpaper, but I�m not so keen on the new carpet stink, though it masks the lingering odor of the primer we put on the ceiling and walls. My bedroom has a vague scent I�ve decided to call �old house,� which is manageable. The carpet in the pantry? Yuck. But add a litter box, and suddenly the room reeks of Arm & Hammer Crystal Blend. I concede it is an improvement.