Never Smelt Flowers

I have never smelt flowers. At the age of twenty I don't know the aroma of a rose, or the zest of a fresh Lilly, nor the soothing scent of Jasmine. To me they all smelled like grass and the preservatives the stores put in to keep them alive longer. However I never told anybody this, sniffing and reveling over the scent I pretended to smell as they rolled off the bouquet I'd received. Why do I do this? Simple, I wanted to fit in.
You see the one time I admitted my lack of floral fragrance sensation I got laughed at. It happened when I was eight years old at a bowling ally. My cheer leading squad had just celebrated the last game of the season  and my sister and I were waiting outside with our coaches for our mother. Along with our gold painted plastic trophies our coach had gifted us with a small bouquet of flowers. As I stood on the sidewalk, cradling those small yellow flowers in my arms, my coach leaned over and asked: "How do those flowers smell?"
Wanting to oblige I brought those flowers up to my nose and gave three good whiffs, frowning as my sinuses was filled with a scent I could only describe as: "Rat Poison!"
My coaches burst out laughing, and though I knew there was no malice behind their mirth, I still didn't like it. From that day on I put on an act when I was presented flowers, never letting the giver know that for me the flowers might as well have been made of air. Looking back I realize that I not only pretended with smelling flowers but with other things too like with music, TV, or whatever would please the people around me.
It's not that I don't have my own individuality but that I second guess myself too much: Is that normal? Are they laughing at you our with you? Does your smile look pleasant or creepy?So scared was I that I kept my real self hidden, acting under the constant fear that I would be discovered.
One day I hope I will find someone-with no blood ties to me-that I won't have to act around. That one person who'll look at my smile, the hushed mumbles beneath my breath, and the strange gate of my walk and not think me weird. That one someone who will look at me and say: "Hey, it's okay if you've never smelt flowers."