Okay, I give up.
Here I was, innocently and diligently (I might add) studying away, when suddenly my very keen nose sensed a not-so-wonderful smell. Not quite old garbage, not quite rotting flesh, more like a little of both. Thanks to my amazing sense of smell, I was the only one in the entire house who noticed this smell.
But "notice" isn't the word, folks. This smell, over the day, overwhelmed me. Imagine trying to study Grade 12 Chemistry while sitting in the middle of a fetid dumpsite. Yeah, that was me.
By nightfall, I couldn't stand it any longer, and I went on the hunt. My nose told me the smell wasn't coming from the garbage in the kitchen. I quickly narrowed down the area to the stove. Upon further investigation, I found this
in the drawer at the bottom of the stove. I came very close to throwing up. Then I told Mr. Handsome he had a job to do, and I went to bed.
Got up the next morning, happy the stench was removed, and sat down to get back to my books, when my nose sensed it once again. The Smell of Death. WTF? It smells like the crotch of an 82-year-old man who hasn't changed his underwear in probably a month, has a bowel control issue as well as a profuse sweating problem. Oh, and he probably doesn't bathe either. Now do you get the picture?
I can't find the source, guys, and it's driving me crazy. Not only the smell, but the thought that there is probably another mouse lying somewhere, dead. In.My.House.
But that's not all, folks! No! I also went out my back door yesterday to throw something into the recycling box, and there it was again! The Smell. And once again, I can't for the life of me find the source of it. I tried putting Mr. Handsome to work on it, but he said he needs me because he can't smell anything. Nice try, husband. You do have other senses besides smell, you know. How about using the eyes god gave you? And while you're at it, thank your lucky stars you don't have an Olympian sense of smell. It's obviously not all it's cracked up to be.
And now I spend my days sniffing, like those drug sniffing dogs at airports who go through people's luggage and dirty underwear, all in the name of their next fix. I swear my nostrils are getting bigger as I write this. My dad had big nostrils, probably the biggest I've ever encountered. They were akin to a horse's nostrils, only on a human's face. Just imagine Sarah Jessica Parker. He claimed it was because he ran a lot as a child. I'm now thinking that maybe I should start a nostril chart, regularly measuring and charting my nostril size, just in case. It would also come in handy as a form of distraction from the constant thoughts that we have 4,563 mice in our house, and they are dying, one by one, never to be found. It would also help to distract me from the fact that I am now the official household sniffing dog.
I knew it would come to this sooner or later.
Update: As I was writing this, an earthquake struck our fair city. Our house trembled and shook, and at first, I mistook it for the construction work that's going on not far from us. Then the noise of a very loud train/truck/group of raucous zombies began, and the house shook even more, and I then realized it wasn't construction work. Instead, I thought it might be the furnace about to explode. Em got up, looked at me with panic in her eyes, and said, "Let's get outta here!" But I was too busy giggling and watching the furniture jump around on the floor to get scared. Yes, we had an earthquake, 5.1 on the Richter scale, and we're all safe. I bet you our new neighbour is now really really glad they moved here!