I'll take a few moments to go through the Rolodex of scents in my brain. If I can't figure out what it is right away, I try to break it down piece by piece.
I'll side track a bit and tell you of a great book that I read in college. It's called The Natural History of the Senses by Diane Ackerman, a writer, poet and anthropologist who goes through all five senses in painstaking detail. This was required reading in my Advanced Acting class. It's a brilliant book and you should all read it...but I digress.
So, in the QE2 (the name of our car), the aroma is something like the melange of chocolate and chlorine. I can't even IMAGINE where the smell is coming from. I figure something is spoiled in the car and begin to ponder when I may have left a chocolate milk or perhaps a covert JavaChip Frappuccino from Starbucks. Nathan hears me snuffling and then he snuffles. It never fails. He pipes up. "What's that smell?" I say, "I don't know, buddy." Then he says, "Perhaps it's the microsheep." (We'll discuss microsheep later)
Then, he announced. "I farted. And it stinks." We both seem to have somatosensory amplification, which makes smells and tastes/textures cranked up to level 12. So, when one of us "lets loose the dogs of war" in the QE2, it's not pretty. He usually does not give warning when he toots. I try not to toot at all, as I am trying to discourage such Cro-Mag behavior. But, you are not always in control of your lower GI. I try to give a warning before hand. He has now started to inform the cabin of a change in pressure (and odor), which I appreciate. Somewhat....
It reminds me of the They Might Be Giants song, "John Lee Supertaster":
The first, last and only time I went to a TMBG concert was at the Hatch Shell in Boston. People moshed and crowd surfed. I mean, who does that at a TMBG concert? Guess I don't. Which ruins my street cred.