This post is from from my other blog here

She whispers because she is considerate and kind, “Mom?”
“Yes dear?”
“I don’t wannabe mean or nuthin……”
“Hmmm?”
“Have you noticed?”
“Noticed what dear?”
“Well he kinda smells…….funny.”
“Funny? What kind of funny?”
“You know.”
“Actually, I really don’t.”
“I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Have a go dear.”
“Well……..he always smells the same……but now……he smells…….he doesn’t smell like him.”
We look at him, both of us as he blinks beneath our stare, wide eyed innocence but with remarkably big ears, “you are fink I stink?”
“No, of course not dear.”
“No I never said you stink, honest.”
“What am I being den?”
I lean forward to sniff him, “don’t be smell me!” he protests with vehemence. “I want to see if it’s you that smells or possibly your clothes?”
“My cloves are not be smell.”
His older, semi silent brother adds his contribution, “he don smell of old Goldfish no more.”
Now whilst I’m not certain what an old Goldfish smells like, I can confirm that he doesn’t smell of baked cheesey crumbs any more, stale or "fresh."