Smells are interesting things. My sense of smell isn't that great so I probably miss out on some pretty good ones. On the other hand, I miss some of the not so pretty good ones too, so I try not to complain.
Hypothetically speaking, there is a Great-Grandmother who is a great cook and she has her grand and great-grand kids over regularly to eat. The only problem is that the next day said offspring are plagued with quite pungent flatulence. Even those with the worse sense of smell are afflicted. I guess that's the price you have to pay for great food.
Hypothetically speaking, this same Great-Grandmother will never admit to having ever had a flatulent episode. She'll always blame it on the youngest person present, usually a baby. I know babies can be flatulent, but there's no way a baby can do what she claims.
I suggest that Colonel Mustard killed Mr. Boddy, with the revolver, in the Billiard Room,