Monday, July 2, 2012

Warning: Don't blame the rotten smell on the dog.

****This warning is not for faint hearted.****

I know what y'all are thinking...6 month old puppy in the process of being potty trained.  This is not to say that she does not have the occasional accident or that she really meant to eat Regan's stuffed elephant.

No, this warning is dedicated to Wesley and his annoying habit of wanting to eat everything in sight. 

"Mom, I don't want to go to make sandwiches today." Wesley complained as I roused him from his bed Friday morning at 8ish.  The kids and I go every Friday to a local charity to make PBJ sandwiches for hungry children.

"I'm hungry," states my own starving child.  "Can we stop at the Texaco to get a biscuit?"  Our neighborhood Texaco station has a mini-restuarant and makes the most awesome biscuits.  "Because we going because YOU [emphasis on you by Wesley] make us.

"Yes," I breathed in and out in an attempt to get out of the house with maiming my children.  I also wanted to get to Vger, my beautiful, now paid for, Dodge Avenger and switch on the air conditioner since it was supposed to be rather toasty (105 degrees).

Wesley happily goes in and buys [Read:  I bought.] a large steak biscuit with egg.  He's happily munches it and for a brief period, Wesley's mouth is engaged without insulting his sister or pontificating on how hard his life is.

Saturday comes and reaches a high of 105 degrees.  I stay home most of the day and Dave has the misfortune of driving Vger to a meeting.  "That's a powerful smell you got going on," Dave grimaced when he gets home.  I'm thinking maybe he doesn't like my new cologne.

Sunday arrives in all its 107 degree glory and as we are going to Mass, I open my door to the foulest and potent smell this side of hell.  Something is rotten in Georgia and it's dying in Vger.  Somehow I knew it was one of the kids.  The smell was wafting from the back seat.  I tore the car apart but nothing.  It was as if my very own septic tank had overflowed into my car.  Both children deny any and everything related to the smell.

Baking soda!!!  Baking soda absorbs odor.  For good measure, I opened up a new Arm & Hammer box to stay in Vger overnight.

We have a cool down today--only 95 degrees but Vger still is malodorous.  The baking soda is a bust.  Holding our breaths, I again search the front seat as Regan searches the back. 

When Regan pulls down the center console in the back seat, I almost pass out.  I learned a few things in that moment:

1.  I will never be a crime scene technician. 

2.  Stinky air travels quickly.
3.  My son will be put up for adoption.
There in the drink console is Wesley's half eaten, rotting sausage biscuit marinating in record high temperatures.  Even touching it has befouled my hands.  I have washed them at least seven times in the past few minutes and I still smell it.

Wesley, of course, blames me.  Apparently he was so sleep deprived he picked up the wrong biscuit, thinking it was steak and not sausage because "as you know, Mom, I don't eat sausage.  You made me pick up the wrong biscuit because I had to get up early to make sandwiches and you tell us not to litter and I didn't want to do anything that you tell me is wrong and....."

I have to go now.  I'm going to try bleach on my hands.

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