Oh. My. Nostrils.
So it’s fall/winter temperatures here in Kentucky, and that means that I have a sore throat and a head full of snot. That’s just how I roll.
As frequent readers of this blog know, the Darlin Husband and I live in This Old FarmHouse, which is more than 150 years old. I love our Old Kentucky Home, but I admit there are some things that have deteriorated with age (which is the story of MY LIFE, but that’s a whole ‘nother post…).
So as referenced above, I am currently fragrance-impaired. I can’t smell hardly anything. But I got a whiff of something foul yesterday morning and assumed that my sweet, precious, darling Savannah Jane Naughtydog had left me a “present” somewhere that I couldn’t locate. Sad but true. No secrets here. Full disclosure.
When I came home yesterday, I was so stopped up that I was mouth-breathing, and Ye Horrors! I TASTED the nasty smell. (Yes – I DO lead a glamorous life. Thank you for noticing.)
DH identified the smell, and once he put forth his hypothesis as to what it is, all was revealed. It’s eau de dead mouse. (Insert vomit emoticon here). AND I CAN’T FIND IT. It’s in the bathroom and I can’t find it. I’ve taken everything out of the cabinets and I can’t find it. I looked everywhere and I can’t find it. The only thing I can figure is that Mickey lodged himself under the vanity in the hole where the pipes are (why NO, it ISN’T sealed up well, thanks for asking!) and met his demise.
So. Rip up the vanity and HOPE his carcass is there, or wait it out and burn a bunch of candles? We shall see, friends. Or, more accurately, we shall smell.