But the most enjoyable comments are the ones that come from left field and tell you more about the commenter than the story itself. Like this, from someone who signs himself Frankie:
I realise there are some who thrive on this style of writing but as a hetrosexual (sic) male, who doesn't give a damn what the cookies and cats smelled of, i'd be lying if i said i liked it.
It reminds me of the linguistic research done on gender and the language of colour. Show a woman a pullover and she'll say its mauve, or puce, or violet, or purple, or eau-de-nil. (Well, OK. Not eau-de-nil.) Show the same pullover to a man and he'll look mildly offended and mutter reddish.
In this story the smell of the biscuits ('cookies': so Frankie's American) has a certain relevance to the rest of the story, so maybe Frankie should have made more of an effort -- though he did read the story to the end, and I thank him for it. But the comment has made me wonder how much I enjoy sensual description as a reader. Maybe not quite as much as I enjoy it as a writer.