What the nose knows (or: Why can’t the smell of chocolate linger like this?)

Have you ever had a smell that got into your nose, your throat –  your whole breathing system – that you just couldn’t shake? One that seemed to almost permeate your whole being? A smell that had you sniffing your arm hours later because you swear you still smell it and are worried that somehow your body chemistry changed overnight and it is now how YOU smell?

Yeah, that happened to me yesterday….and it is still going on as I type.

Before I go totally into it, I need to explain something. This has been an odd week for a few reasons, with our schedules and eating patterns much different from normal.  So the fact that the kitchen garbage had remained fairly untouched/unopened since Saturday is plausible but not at all typical. Still, there it sat…the ticking time bomb waiting for the unsuspecting victim to open it…Let me get this straight, you like smelling this stuff?!

Which was me yesterday morning. I was getting back into a normal mode of life, making breakfast, cleaning up the house while I had a moment before heading out, and opening up the garbage lid to toss out various things along the way. And when I did, I was rudely slapped across the cheek by a pungent smell slightly reminiscent of onions.

Now, I like onions. I use onions in cooking. But, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out when I had used them within the last four days that they then could have made the garbage smell that foul. Plus, we would have composted them so they shouldn’t have been in there in the first place. So as I continued cleaning up, I kept trying to decide what it was that could have made that smell. I had no clue.

The second time I opened the garbage lid, I nearly fainted. I HAD to get rid of that garbage bag no matter how empty it seemed to be. I pulled it out and, being the conscientious person I am, decided to go through the refrigerator to see if there were any outdated/old things in there that I could put into the bag to make it more full.

The whole time that smell was leaching out of the bag, curling up into the air and painting my nasal passages and lungs with its insidious nature.

I complete my duties, put the bag out into the outer garbage can and walked away…only to realize that the smell wasn’t gone.

I spent the rest of the day doing whatever I could to get it out of my system. Tea? No change. Mint Life Savers? They didn’t save my life. Stinky feta cheese? Couldn’t compete with this stink. Vodka? No change (to the smell, at least).

It was awful. Plus it was driving me crazy that I could not figure out what on earth could have made that smell.

Fast forward to 9:30 last night. The Country Boy go home late and while he and I are headed upstairs I finally remembered to tell him about the smell that has been following me all day.

“It was probably the dog pee,” was his casual response.

Excuse me? Dog pee? In the garbage?

Apparently, when I was running on Saturday morning and the Country Boy was in charge of Riley, there was a little accident. Curtis had gone upstairs to go to the bathroom and Riley (who isn’t allowed upstairs) got tired of waiting for him so went up. And found our bedroom. And decided to mark it.

The Country Boy, being a good guy, immediately got paper towels and cleaned up the wetness.

And then threw the paper towels directly into the kitchen garbage can.

Seriously.

We have a giant clump of plastic bags to take to the recycling bin that he could have used to dispose of the towels. We have an outside garbage can just waiting to hold our stinkiest stuff.

Instead they sat in our kitchen and smouldered in their stench for three days while I walked by unsuspectingly.

They (or at least Shirley Jones said it on the Partridge Family when I was a kid, so it has to be true, right?) say that when you get skunked, you can bathe in tomato soup to get rid of the smell.

I’m thinking of going to the grocery store this morning to buy a can so I can keep my head over a hot bowl of soup and breathe in the vapors all day today.

 Either that or I might have to go back to the vodka.

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About CountryBoyCityGirl

A city girl who fell in love with a country boy. Found bliss, along with large piles of mule droppings for her and two little girls to now try to avoid.
This entry was posted in Life in the Country, This thing called marriage and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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