i only wear white when it rains

I get a lot of suggestions about clever ways to earn enough scrap to pay my AmEx Platinum now that my marital settlement agreement of three Twinkies and a pillowcase is approaching finalization.

Here’s how that usually goes: I scoff, roll my eyes and then morph into a petulant child who drinks triple shots of espresso in her latte before reminding them that Brian has exiled my credit cards to a local landfill and has the terror watch alert raised to red if I so much as log on to my Amazon account.

“What AmEx? I’m barely eligible for a Discover card,” I snort. “Brian’s probably flying to Tahiti with all the frequent flyer miles I worked very hard to earn through years of Neiman Marcus last call marathons and sleepless nights on shopbop.com.”

But back to what toilets I’ll need to lick to pay for my lattes going forward. I have done some serious introspection to come up with a list of my skills. For the sake of my tarnished self esteem, let’s just call them “Superpowers:”

I can use my g-string as a scrunchee: Many of you maintain that this is more of a “party trick” than Superpower, but I beg to differ. Disappearing into a bathroom with no hair accessories whatsoever and emerging with a perfectly coiffed ponytail or ballerina bun is pretty extraordinary. Although handy for unexpected sleepovers, I’m not confident this has revenue-earning potential.

I can find missing children with my superior olfaction: You can once again diminish the impressiveness of this skill by calling me “dog nose” or asking me if I’m pregnant. But someone who knows her husband just ripped open a bag of chicken chunks before she even pulls into her driveway clearly should have her own comic book.

Wikipedia defines Hyperosmia as “the increased ability to smell – for example, being able to identify the perfume of the previous occupant of a chair.” (or knowing whether you had the seabass or the halibut after talking to you for 30 seconds)

Let’s ignore the fact that most terms used to describe me begin with “hyper” and focus on how I have used this Superpower for the greater good. There was the time I got upgraded to a suite in Vegas after calling the front desk and telling them my current room reeked of “prostitutes marinated in Stetson cologne.” Or when I got bumped up to first class on a flight back from Italy because the entire row of Saudi Arabians next to us removed their boots and raised their arms quite a bit (um, Islamic dress — not exactly light and breathable). Actually, that’s a lie. Alitalia never upgraded me. So I shoved lemon fingers up each nostril, swallowed a Valium (or three) and blacked out for eight hours.

Unfortunately, I’m not having any luck unearthing a profession that calls for this Superpower. Miami airport customs turned me down, citing some bullshit about how only canines sniff bags for bombs. Whatever.

So until my comic book “Hyperosmiatic Heroines” is published, I’ve decided to highlight a few recent assaults on my olfactories as a public service:

My loaner car from Reeves: My shocking loss of status at my car dealer of nearly a decade resulted in them providing me with a rusty, dented Chrysler 3000 that stunk of scented maxi pads, dry cleaning solution and Marlboro Lights. When the guy asked me if the car was okay, I told him “only with noseplugs.” Crickets.

Method Antibac Lemon Verbena Kitchen Cleaner: Only buy this if you want your carrara marble countertops to smell like insect repellent.

Downy Mountain Spring Fabric Softener: After I perform the gruesome, ungodly act of laundry, I do not want to be rewarded with clothes that smell like they were rolled around in pine sap at Girl Scout camp.

Gain Original Fresh Dryer Sheets: You know the completely shaved, greasy-haired Italian bodybuilder wearing the Tap Out tee and staring at your breasts in line at the grocery store to buy his canned tuna fish? Your clothes will smell like him if you use this.

My armpits after Ainsley’s School Fall Festival: Because I break out into an angry rash when I use any antiperspirant that actually works, I opt for Dove Invisible solid. It’s slightly less effective than oxygen.

Little Tree Air Freshener (Lively Lemon Scent): Not so much a bad smell, as much as a smell so powerful it actually squeezes the capillaries behind your eyes forcing you to call a neurologist and schedule a CT scan of the brain.

So dear friends, please know that in the future if I happen to cancel our dinner date, it’s nothing personal. I probably just don’t like your cologne.