It's A Gas

I have found out rather recently, it's the little things that make a marriage what it is.  A bond that is intimate and unique, no matter what the circumstances, no matter who is right or wrong, no matter how embarrassing a situation is, no matter who is stinkier.  As mere newlyweds by some standards (4.5 years), bonding can be a prolonged and exasperating experience.  In our case, one such challenge was confronted quite quickly.  Odoriferousness .  Before I was married, I recognized all my personal aromas and accepted them.  Hey, that was me.  Now, living in a house with other living bodies, I've realized that I had to accept and breathe and live with various funk.  I have had to develop a strong tolerance to the peculiar nuances infiltrating our household and beyond.  The following is a list I've compiled of some of the more rank and foul smells I have encountered and their accompanying guilty parties.

One Teenage Boy
Socks.  Lacrosse, soccer, basketball, skateboarding, snowboarding,camping, etc.  How many pair does he really need?  They lay everywhere that you happen to be.  And most often only one.  These singular socks left in our living room has turned it into a "I Smell Dead People" room.  Our cat usually conducts a lick-bite-roll-fling session with one of these babies before going outside for some fresh air.  Probably to cough up a cotton/hair ball.  Recently, for about a week, I had a weird, unsettling smell in my truck.  I checked out the obvious places : under the seats, in the seats, around the seats, under the floor mats.  Nothing.  I had thought maybe a skunk crawled up into my engine and was slow-baking.  Finally, I took it in to a mechanic to see if he could find the source.  I needed to get something out of the glove box and, lo and behold, out of it escaped the most putrid, disgusting, primordial cloud.  One greenish-gray, solo sock, which had completely morphed into a hardened, fibrous pancake.  I need to order a new glovey.  Reminds me of the Seinfeld show about the funk in his car that wouldn't go away.

One Teenage Girl
I am more in-tune with boy/man ju-ju.  I have no idea why she smells the way she does.  You'll have to ask Mom.

One 10 year-old Girl
See above.

One 10 year-old Dog
A combo of interesting and nauseating stenches.  A little canned beef (ya, right) chunks in some liquified/gelatinous goop or a chicken (ya, right)  treat that smells and/or probably tastes like week-old tuna that was left out in the sun.  Even the flies stay away.  Though not a garbage eater, she will lap-chew-crush-chomp anything that is nearly edible or looks even remotely edible.  Maybe a little trip to the cat litter buffet.  Rolling around outside in whatever they roll around on is another hit on the nasal passages.  Can we get a hose over here?

One 5 year-old Cat
Open a can of gizzards and liver pate and watch her twitch in euphoria.  And that cat box.  I can't put enough absorbent crystals or odor-crushing substance down.  It's enough to curl my eyebrows.  And of course, the forgotten, opened can of food underneath a credenza that is now maggotized.  Yummy.

That brings us to The Wife and myself.  I have to say, right off the bat, she can bring the tang.  The girl's got game.  And she admits it.  Just ask her.  The term "gassy lassie" doesn't refer lovingly to the TV Lassie when she saved Billy down in that gas tanker.  Oh no.  When The Wife says : "I'm a gassy lassie tonight", the translation is : one of us had better sleep elsewhere.  Just the other night, I remember coming in from a cooling, refreshing, light rain where my nostrils have expanded, sucking in as much freshness as possible, when I ran into a wall of gross proportions.  I looked at the soles of my shoes.  I looked at the dog.  I looked at the boy.  I didn't even consider the girls.  There is no way that could come from them.  I looked at The Wife.  Her sour smile, a slight twinkle in her eyes through a vaporous haze and that innocent look told me the story.  I rushed around looking for every book of matches and candles I could muster.  Oh yes, she brought her 'A' wind that time.  Epic.

Another womanly story is in order here.  This one's about my Mom.  Yes, little old Mom has pulled off some stinkers in her time.  Though she never admits it.  We were in a grocery store and she was reaching for a can of fruit cocktail.  Toot.  Toot.  She then turns around and scowls at a lady next to her and shakes her head as if to say "I heard that and it wasn't me.  You should be ashamed of yourself for letting it rip in public."  Toot.

So that leaves me.  Not much to say.  By all accounts (including the pets), it seems as if I was of no particular essence at all.  Completely neutral aroma.  Is this possible?  Am I the only one that can't have odor?  Even after eating a smothered, Chicken Pollo Burrito at Sam's #3, drinking a couple cups of coffee and taking the dog on a brisk walk, my emanations were pitiful compared to the rest of our house.  Oh, you can't blame that on me.  Really, that wasn't me.  No, trust me.   I was the only one in the room?  Where did that dog go?  Where are all those socks?  This bonding experience is really working.  But, can we go outside and enjoy it more?  I feel a little disturbance is coming on.