Dead Animals...Explained
Once upon a time I wrote this post:
A few weeks ago, I came home from a business trip and walked in my front door only to be overcome with an urgent need to vomit. Our house smelled like dead fish, or, the scallops Scott had made for dinner. My food aversions have passed, but I'm still not the biggest fan of seafood, especially as a signature scent.
I'm incredibly sensitive about smells in my home, and on top of that my olfactory system is frighteningly keen. Even when I'm not pregnant. So I paraded around with air freshener, choking the shit out of my husband, dog, plants and ultimately myself. But at least it was with clean linen.
Here we are, several weeks later, and I swear I can still smell it. It certainly cannot still be the scallops. I look for it constantly...is it the garbage, the sink, Scott's shoes? Dead animals in the walls? I'm currently convinced that there are thousands of cockroaches decomposing in our walls from our regular extermination. I also think those cockroaches are the re-incarnated souls of murdered civil war mill workers, but that's another post.
The problem is (beyond my own psychosis), no one else can smell it. I feel like a crazy person wandering around my house, sniffing every surface and wall. I just finished reading a book, Broken Harbor, where a man was so convinced there was an animal in his attic that he drove his family insane trying to track it down -- to the point where his wife killed him and his children. I need someone with a good nose to walk around with me and prove to my husband that I do not need to be committed, and prevent myself from a similar fate.
In the meantime, it's candles and La Tee Da lamps. And a "no fish in the house" mandate, strictly enforced.
I'm incredibly sensitive about smells in my home, and on top of that my olfactory system is frighteningly keen. Even when I'm not pregnant. So I paraded around with air freshener, choking the shit out of my husband, dog, plants and ultimately myself. But at least it was with clean linen.
Here we are, several weeks later, and I swear I can still smell it. It certainly cannot still be the scallops. I look for it constantly...is it the garbage, the sink, Scott's shoes? Dead animals in the walls? I'm currently convinced that there are thousands of cockroaches decomposing in our walls from our regular extermination. I also think those cockroaches are the re-incarnated souls of murdered civil war mill workers, but that's another post.
The problem is (beyond my own psychosis), no one else can smell it. I feel like a crazy person wandering around my house, sniffing every surface and wall. I just finished reading a book, Broken Harbor, where a man was so convinced there was an animal in his attic that he drove his family insane trying to track it down -- to the point where his wife killed him and his children. I need someone with a good nose to walk around with me and prove to my husband that I do not need to be committed, and prevent myself from a similar fate.
In the meantime, it's candles and La Tee Da lamps. And a "no fish in the house" mandate, strictly enforced.
And it's because of a plant. Yes, a plant. It sprouts phallic looking shoots in the spring and summer that smell like...you guessed it. So now I know. No more mystery. No dead animals.
Just a stinky penis plant.
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