This post was actually written yesterday, but I lost it when I screwed up the Boneblog. Thanks to Greg, I have the text back – he's the greatest!
Right now I'm sitting here at the computer which is 14 feet away from the kitchen trash can. Yes, I measured. I am like that.
The trash can smell is to my nostrils as Ike was to Tina (or Bobby was to Whitney – you get the idea). Nevermind that I have had a ginormous Yankee Candle burning for h-o-u-r-s. I know it isn't the refrigerator because I cleaned it out this morning and disposed of such niceties as the mold-ridden, partially liquefied lime which was a source of consternation to me because I kept smelling rotten oranges and knew we hadn't had any oranges for months, where's-the-rotten-orange-where's-the-rotten-orange?!
The lime is not the source of the malodorous assault. Ethan's diaper is. How is it that baby poo smell is able to waft through a stainless-steel covered trash can, fight the Yankee Candle smell for right-of-way, and travel 14 feet to where I am sitting? The military should really look into using that stuff as a chemical weapon. Or maybe they can just put dirty diapers along the Mexican border as a more effective deterrent than the Minuteman Project.
On top of this, Vinnie smells like fish food. Greg and I can't figure out why. Maybe it's time for a switch in his dog food. Oh, wait. He doesn't eat his dog food because Ethan feeds him from the high chair. Greg bathed him this weekend but he still smells exactly like Tetra smells when you open a can of it and take a big whiff. Yes, I've done that. I am like that.