The Goofy Glass

Weird things happen; life is full of weird occurrences. Women have octuplets, people discover they’re married to their half-sister, alien abductions occur. Astounding, never seen before, thought-provoking. But every once in a while something happens that makes all of that seem run-o-the-mill, that seems to dupe all other mysteries. I have just lived such an occurrence.
There is chap stick in my orange juice. When my lips touch the rim of the glass, I am overcome by that glossy scent, the memories of cold mornings before elementary school when my lips would chap to cracking. The juice itself has less of a trace of the substance, but its presence is undeniable. I am left to wonder how, and most importantly, why?
I’ve given up drinking the stuff. Far as my common sense tells me, drinking chap stick is not the best call. Yet I cannot bring myself to dump it down the sink, flush the problem away like some tick I’ve condemned to death in the toilet. This is far too intriguing- It is not possible that a chap-stick wearing person would have sipped from this cup and replaced it in the cupboard; these glasses came straight from the wash.
Could it be my imagination? I do have a thing about smells. They seem to stay with me. In third grade I had a copy of the First “Chronicles of Narnia” book (The Magician’s Nephew?). It’s cover smelled like…Well, I can only describe it as “rotten barbecue sauce”, though I don’t believe sauce can rot. Just for the record, I don’t believe I stuck my nose against the book, it was just so unpleasantly pungent that the scent struck me during every read.
Throughout a good portion of the rest of my childhood, I was plagued by this smell. It frequently visited me when I played “Cartoon Network Snowmobile Racer” with others during indoor recess (Weird, I know), and sometimes it would come upon me at completely random moments.
But I have never been plagued by the smell of chap stick. And now that I have left the glass here for several minutes, the smell is filling the room, and growing in intensity. Perhaps solving this mystery should be forgone for the sake of avoiding scental scarring once again.

Whose idea was it anyaway to turn Welch's Jam Jars with Disney characters on them into glasses?

Bftsoaws
(Blogging for the sake of a weird smell)

-OSK

The blood is on your hands
You’ve got it on your feet
Your fist is in the air
And somewhere in between