Ru FB * PopClogs * 43Refugees < Faithful here 'til the sky goes out
Earlier this week we noted a garbage like funk coming from the garage. It worsened and worsened as the week’s weather warmed and eventually I made the connection between the brazen, beaver-sized rodent I encountered last week and the unmistakable odor of ex-beast. I knew a most unfortunate kind of treasure hunt was in the cards, and today I braved this with a queasy heart and a defiant grimace.
Like a seasoned CSI I smeared a line of overpowering dream cream (strongly scented with eucalyptus, mint, and other such things) under my nose, grabbed a flashlight and Isak declared, “May the force be with you, Mommy!” as I headed into the darkened end of the garage. I started moving a pile of boards which I had previously decided was where the X on this particular map lay. I was not disappointed, but I also lost my appetite for lunch.
Huge. Huge and unpleasant, but better now than tomorrow or next week. With handy disposal tools in hand (a flattened cheerios box and numerous plastic bags) and a shudder that would put a dashboard hula girl to shame, I dealt with the offending pile and washed my hands OCD style with sugar scented antibacterial soap.
That was a most foul and odorous task. It’s also one M. was dreading after work, so he’ll be pleased. For obvious reasons I skipped the Kodak moment for this goal. The flag may be flying half mast at Disneyland tonight, but our garage is fresher already.