Life stinks

A suffocating fog of bad odour hung heavy — and there was precious little we could do other than cupping our hands over our noses

I’m sure there are worse smells than the one that enveloped the entirety of my home last week, only I can think of none. Except maybe that time in chemistry class (heretofore known as the Bromine Incident) wherein it seemed that every available molecule of oxygen had been sucked through the stratosphere and deposited somewhere between Saturn and Uranus. Translation: I thought I would die, which was largely unsettling because everyone would then learn of my secret crush whose picture was taped inside my locker — an inevitable discovery in the event my parents would empty said locker while classes were changing. Oy.

At any rate, the odour was horrific. Both times. This time, however, the source was puzzling and, as most disasters go, it befell our happy home 
in the dead of night. To 
add to our merriment, we were hosting a sleep-over at the time, which meant that a profusion of kid-paraphernalia was strewn everywhere, to include wayward Legos, hairbrushes that waged a personal assault upon my feet and lumpy sleeping bags — ones that ought to have contained lumpy children at such an ungodly hour. But no.

Nearly everyone 
was awake and milling about, perfectly distraught by the suffocating fog 
that hung heavy in the 
air — aside from the time we huddled together watching bad TV and cupping our hands over our noses in a futile attempt 
to breathe.

Of course, I became convinced this was how we’d die, curled up in a corner or an abandoned blanket fort, leading crime scene investigators to embark upon a frenzied mission to find a vat 
of Kool-Aid that didn’t 
exist. And after wandering around the yard like a 
fool, inhaling the stench that lived there as well, it became apparent to me that Iran had gathered the most godawful-smelling skunks on the planet, coaxed them inside a giant warhead and dropped said abomination directly upon my home.

Since there was no other logical explanation, I turned on the news, 
fully expecting to see 
video clips of Pepé Le Pew-inspired creatures invading my neighbourhood. A call to the State Police came next, as one might expect. I can only hope the officer who answered the phone wasn’t injured when he likely fell to the floor, seized with laughter.

In the midst of my 
catastrophising panic, however, I flung open windows and doors, combed the 
attic and garage, crawled in closets and thrust my head inside the dishwasher — in hopes that I would find that which sought to corrode my sorry soul, one singed nose hair at a time. Eventually, I ordered my husband to the dreaded basement — to slay the fetid beast that surely lurked there, but not before I instructed him to stand in roughly 73 different places and sniff.

“Is it worse here…or over here? How about next to the stereo? Go stand over there and report back.” The absurdity of this exercise cannot be underestimated, nor can the nauseating toxicity of our air quality that night.

And like so many infinitely obtuse ideas I contemplated during the wee hours in question (to include encapsulating myself inside the refrigerator to escape the horribleness), I toyed with the notion of ordering HAZMAT suits for everyone. However I stopped short since a) I knew the expense would be obscene b) by the time they arrived, no one could sign for them because we’d either be dead or comatose and c) I was overcome with guilt, knowing that adequate protection for our pets would be virtually impossible. Needless to say, I got teary-eyed just envisioning hamsters dressed in tiny yellow suits. Or maybe it was the wall of stench that made my eyes burn and tear. I can’t be sure.

In any event, the culprit was, indeed, an ill-tempered skunk — one inclined to target the air intake gadgetry of unsuspecting heat systems. Translation: The foul aroma plagued our home and every cussed thing in it 
for roughly 83 hours — 
not that anyone counted. Okay, we counted. In the end, vinegar was our saving grace.

wknd@khaleejtimes.com

· Planet Mom: It’s where Melinda lives. Visit her at: www.melindawentzel.com and www.facebook.com/NotesfromPlanetMom

· The author is the winner of the 2009-2010 Mid-Atlantic Community Papers Association Editorial Award for Original Writing — Category: Personal Column.