My car, to put it delicately, smells like ass.
It's making me crazy. I have no idea why it smells so rotten. I'm worried that (oh, horror) a rodent has gotten in there somewhere and died. Or that something perishable fell out of a grocery bag and slipped into a crevice in the hatch. Or that Ainsley and I are just that stinky and our funk has built up over time.
I know there's probably a logical explanation. The smell is reminiscent of wet cardboard, and we have been carrying some boxes and leprechaun traps and such. But I have pretty much emptied out the entire vehicle, felt around under seats, and wiped down all the upholstery and the dash. I even opened it up and let it air out yesterday afternoon in the glorious sunshine, breezes, and warm temperatures we were graced with. And yet this morning, when I opened the door, the smell drifted out. Crap.
It might not be as bad as I think it is. I have a pretty sensitive sniffer, a gift from my mother who, as a kid, said, "What's that I smell?" at least once a day and would go around the house like a basset hound trying to figure out what had been soiled, spilled, or left out too long. My dad could never smell what she said she smelled and got aggravated at her "Roman" nose and its overly active synapses (especially when he was discovered somehow or other to be responsible for the odor.) The day Ainsley and I first noticed that the car smelled a little gassy, we were all three running errands in the car and Jason's nose didn't pick it up. We had the same conversation we've had on many occasions in our marriage, and the script goes like this:
Me: What's that smell?
Jason: What's it smell like?
Me: Like (insert some sort of foulness.)
Jason: I don't smell anything.
Me: You don't smell that?? How do you not smell that? Did you do it?
I have been known to tear the house apart, checking under furniture, flipping couch cushions, sniffing carpet and drapes and comforters to locate the source. Usually, the offending agent is a slice or two of month-old forgotten deli turkey growing penicillin in the back of the meat drawer; once it was a potato bin housing liquified tubers. With the car, I am baffled. And quite frankly disgusted.
Tomorrow is the first day of spring break for me. I am sure I will be scrubbing all surfaces of my car, Febreezing like mad, and running to Yankee Candle for a Car Jar. I hope that I find the offending agent so that I am not just covering up the odor of some decaying bit of dropped food; nothing smells worth than decay mixed with cucumber-honeydew.
And you just can't fool my sniffer. My nose knows.