This morning, while cruising Facebook for all the new Grumpy Cat memes and "I can't live without coffee" posts, I came across Single Dad Laughing's latest post (http://www.danoah.com/2013/07/and-then-i-found-it.html/3). This is Dan Pearce, an author, blogger, humorist and awesome dad whose blogs are HILARIOUS. Wanting some laughter today, I clicked on his link and was treated to gagging, laughing, nausea and memories. He had written about the worst smell ever and asked for comments about his readers' worst smell memories. Below is my comment on his post (Yes, I am capable of writing novellas on posts. Just who I am):
My parents went on a cruise. In the summer. In July, nonetheless.We live in the desert. Okay, you have the picture of HOT. I told them I'd take care of the plants, get the mail, etc. (The mail needed to be collected every day because my parents were over 55 so they of course got mail from every senior product ever created, not to mention the RV places, Hoveround, etc. But I digress.)
The first day I showed up was a Monday. There was a slight decaying odor in the house when I walked in, which I thought was weird, especially considering both my parents smoked like diesel trucks and the house usually smelled like a bar on Sunday morning. I ignored the smell and dropped the mail on the counter. Tuesday: Smell was worse, but I was in a rush, so I dropped the pile o' junk mail on the counter and left. Wednesday: By now the smell was getting worrisome. I figured there was a dead mouse somewhere and I shuddered to think that I was eventually going to have to look for it; but not this day. Procrastination and I have always had a love/hate relationship. Thursday: OMG, the smell that blasted me when I opened the door caused me to throw up a little in my mouth. By now I was thinking that maybe Mom had actually bashed Dad over the head with a frying pan and had hidden the body in the closet before proceeding on the cruise by herself, or maybe with Pablo, the cabana boy. One never knows. I did a perfunctory search, even moving some furniture to carefully and fearfully look behind, but I didn't see anything. There weren't any bodies in the closets, either.
FRIDAY: D-Day. As in Disgusting Dead Discovery Day. By the smell that blasted me when I opened the front door, I knew I had to find the source soon, or the neighbors were going to be calling CSI. So, before searching the house once again, I decided I needed to ventilate. After opening all the windows, I decided to open the garage doors and leave the house door to the garage open for cross ventilation. When I opened the door that led to the garage, the smell that blasted me in the face and melted my eyeballs while simultaneously burning all the nose hairs I still possessed (those I couldn't reach with tweezers) was so horrific that I seriously considered just burning the whole place down. What stopped me from actually going through with that plan was the fact that I figured I was obligated to gather all the mail I had been collecting throughout the week before torching the place and the mound o' junk that was on the kitchen counter would need a front end loader. So, instead, I hesitantly moved into the garage and looked around. I figured Dad was out here somewhere, since the closets hadn't coughed up any bodies. The smell seemed to be emanating from the trunk of my mother's car, and I was sure that was in fact the source when I noticed all the paint was bubbling on the trunk lid. Soooo, believe you me, I was EXTREMELY hesitant to open that trunk. I just knew I was going to be assailed with the site of my poor ol' Dad's bashed-in skull and rotting corpse. Well, I finally gathered my courage and popped the trunk. Forcing one eye open, I was extremely relieved to discover two very large previously frozen chickens in grocery bags, which were now the size of turkeys from the expansion of putrid gas inside their plastic bags.
I never told Dad about my suspicions...