About me: I'm 40 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 8-year-old Junior, our 5-year-old Everett, our baby and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Something terrible happened and I'll never be the same again
I was sniffing Chuck's pants to see if they were dirty and I wasn't looking at what I was sniffing and there was a dirty sock stuck to the velcro tab of his pants and I stuck my nose right into the meat of the sock and the odor—omigod the odor—I stumbled backwards and fell into the dresser and cried out loud—dear God I cried into the air— "How could a human being produce such an odor??" and then I collapsed onto the floor into a little ball and I stayed there. Weeping. Sobbing. Shaking.
I'll never smell again.