There's Something in the Air

Every once in a while over the last few weeks when I've opened the pantry door, I've gotten a whiff of something nasty. For the life of me I haven't been able to figure out what it is. Everything in there is dried goods, like cereal or pasta, or canned goods. There were no suspicious puddles around the cans and jars, and while crackers can go stale, they don't generally smell like an animal has found its final resting place.

I was pretty sure it wasn't an animal of the vermin variety. I pay good money for pest control which is supposed to include those of the scrabbling variety. And other than a whiff now and then, I haven't seen or heard any other evidence -- no spoor, no scrabbling in the walls.

The problem with tracking down this elusive smell has been that I would catch the faintest trace, and then it would be gone. It has disturbed me enough, however, that I have made a habit of standing in front of the pantry for minutes on end, sniffing the air like a dog. Up high, down low. I've cleared entire shelves looking for something that has gone bad and come up empty.

I have even stood with my back to the pantry to make it think that I was actually focusing on something else and lull it into a false sense of security, then whip my head around and inhale deeply. But after that first smell, it would always disappear, and I would be left thinking I had imagined it. I have spent enough time sniffing the air in the pantry that my family has started to worry. "Don't you smell anything?" I ask. But everyone says no and then walks away casting anxious glances in my direction.

Tonight, though, I finally got more than a whiff. I opened the pantry door, and it was enough to knock me over. I was determined not to move on to another task until I tracked this smell down. I started my sniffing, up, down, up, down. This time the smell definitely started getting stronger as I moved down towards the lower shelves. Those hold cookbooks and paper plates, no food whatsoever. Nothing on the floor either. That's where I keep my oversize cook pots and paper towels. Oh, dear, if it wasn't food, that must mean something died down there.

My stomach started turning over, but I had already used up my one get-my-husband-to-take-care-of-it pass earlier in the evening when I requested that he kill an extremely large spider that was making a beeline for my bare feet. Also, he was hip deep in helping Sabrina and Rose with their public speaking contest, listening to the same speeches over and over and over. I had forced him into this after the science fair debacle, but I started thinking that maybe he was getting the better end of the deal this evening. Still, needs must, so I squared my shoulders, plugged my nose, and started moving stuff off the floor.

It's dark down there. I couldn't see much. Every piece I reached in to grab was a little like Russian roulette. I finally found it on the third item. There hanging off the backside of my crock pot was a small bag of potatoes. At least I think they were potatoes originally. I had no idea potatoes, when left to their own devices, would turn to liquid -- a black, evil-smelling liquid that started gushing over my hands as soon as I picked the bag up.

Running and gagging at the same time is not easy, but I managed it. I also managed to clean and mop the entire pantry floor while gagging, and to gag while taking out the garbage. I'm still having a little of that upchuck reflex now to be honest. It's enough to turn anyone off of potatoes for a good long while