Every once in a while my life is a little too ridiculous even for me and it is in those moments that I maybe, possibly, might succumb to a little white lie or two. But I never feel that bad about it because MOST of my story is always true and let’s be real about it, EVERYBODY tells a white lie every once in a while to make themselves look cooler. Right??
But in honor of Euphoria Girl and not being afraid of being a total idiot sometimes, here is my confession:
The Story of the Smelly Car
I have the incredible luxury of living only a few blocks from my job, which means that I can often go for several days without getting into my car. It is because of this luxury that something can die in it, fester, and grow maggoty without my catching it in due time.
I drove my car on a Monday night and thought it smelled a little bit like farts. Normally I am the one responsible for the fart smell in my car, but I’ve been laying off the dairy lately and this was just a little worse than what I am capable of. It was probably something I’d driven by.
By Wednesday, it smelled like something had taken a giant poo in my car and the smell was quite pungent. I keep my car pretty clean, but I’d left a pair of muddy boots in there from Utopia Fest and maybe they were covered in more than just mud? So I emptied my car, checked under the seats, and finally brought my wellies in and washed them. Problem solved.
Until Thursday when it was clear that death had happened. Only death could make the kind of thick, putrid, scoop it up with my hands and let it drip between my fingers smell. But I had to get to my chiropractor appointment before I could take it to get cleaned and I drove with all the windows down and my head out the window like an excited dog. Only I wasn’t excited. I was trying not to add barf smell to the death smell. Sitting in the waiting room I realized I had brought it in with me and that my life was far too quickly becoming a Seinfeld episode!! On the way back, I pulled in to get take out and the woman at the window turned to tell me the price of my burger and fries and had to catch her breath and she turned her head back in towards the fresh smell of fried things as she kept talking and bless her heart she was trying to be so polite. So I cleaned out my car. I vacuumed every crevice, scrubbed every surface and then sprayed the carpet with a thick layer of foaming cleaner. I WILL USE ALL THE CHEMICALS!! I said.
By Friday morning I could smell my car from a good 10 feet away in the parking lot. Well shit. So Friday afternoon I rolled up my sleeves and popped open the hood of my car and took a look around. Except I have no idea where to look for a dead thing under the hood of my car! I was sort of hoping there’d be a giant raccoon body festering and frying on top of the engine. That would be SUPER gross, but definitely identifiable and I could say something like, “Welp, that is OBVIOUSLY what is making that smell!” Except there was no dead raccoon. Or any kind of dead body that was obviously making the smell! I looked deeper and touched things and called my brother and said, “if you were a mouse and decided to die in a car, where would you crawl to?” He mentioned some technical device in my car that I didn’t know how to find and I decided he was no help to me. Also, the smell was a whole lot more nonexistent near all the engine parts and maybe it wasn’t there after all.
This is where the lie comes in because I told everyone that I found some sort of dead rodent under the hood of my car. Because that is totally a thing that happens to people. “Oh, it must have crawled in there and died,” is what people said. “Uh Huh. Yup.” Is what I answered. The TRUTH is that I threw my hands up in the air and yelled “WHERE THE FUCK IS THIS SMELL COMING FROM” and opened up all of my doors and started searching under every seat and floor mat AGAIN and there, underneath the passenger seat, wedged all the way to the side was a bag of dead mice COVERED in maggots. That’s right. A bag of used-to-be-frozen mice (because it wasn’t one mouse. It was three) that I had bought for taxidermy the weekend before had fallen.
I walk of shamed all the way down my parking lot with the festering, dripping, maggot covered bag of rotting mouse carcasses and threw it in the dumpster.
Because sometimes I rockstar at life.
And sometimes I accidentally leave mice in my car to rot in the Texas heat for several days.
We can’t win ’em all.