A thick, pungent odor is lurking outside of our house. We can smell it the second the door opens. It holds us captives in these stuccoed walls, because if we dare leave, it violates our olfactory senses in unholy ways. The stench grows stronger and more putrid with the dawning of each new day. Try as we may, it will not leave us alone. Why? Because it lives in our trash can.
My first guess was that the La Leche League found my residence and decided to retaliate for the post I did awhile back. Then my thoughts turned to the disgruntled neighbors. Oh no…what if they are using my trash cans to dump all of their dog poop and rotten veggies, as a means of torturing me enough to make me leave? No, that doesn’t make sense. I already want to leave and they know it. Plus, the smell is much more vile than poop or rotting produce. It smells like…like…like a rotting corpse. Oh shitballs….There is a corpse in my trash can. Someone dumped a dead body in my trash can, in order to frame me for murder!
So I made Daniel go out to the trash cans and look for any signs of body parts. He came back without an answer. No arms or legs were visible. What the hell is making that horrid odor? Then, I thought back to Friday and our ruined dinner plans. If you recall, the whole chicken that I had purchased was bad before the expiration date, so I couldn’t cook it. I ended up throwing it away.
Eureka! It is a rotting corpse…a rotting chicken corpse! Trash day is still three days away. The smell will only get worse, but there is nothing we can do about it. I don’t dare dig it out to find it covered in maggots. Yuck. It will just have to stay in the trash and decompose. In the meantime, I’m going to buy some masks so that we can leave the house without wanting to barf. On a good note: nobody will try to burglarize our home this week, because nobody wants to get near it!