Beauty. And the Beasts.

I've been reading about synesthesia. When I did a James Brown split and broke my ankle I could see/feel a dark gray-blue cloud billowing above me as I sat on the floor and rocked with the pain.
It seems to me that:

• There is a certain bird call that is thin flat vertical silver bars.
• The aroma of vanilla is egg shaped and is the color of browning butter.
• Powdery soapy smells are varying shades of blue. Shalimar is cobalt. Baby powder is ice blue.

I found an online test and answered the questions.  The result is that I am not a synesthete, which I find disappointing.

The scene was a gathering of Husband's mother and aunts. And me. The conversation was about simple recipes. One was called Garbage Bread. Another was called Dump Cake. 

The aunt who was the dark horse, the outcast of the family, and not at all coincidentally, the one other non-blood relative in the group looked on, her upper lip raised, her eyebrows in a deep V above the bridge of her nose.

"Garbage bread! Dump cake! You people gotta get better names!"