Name That Smell

There was an... unusual... smell permeating my kitchen when I woke up this morning. As there are ample things to create unusual smells strewn casually about my kitchen it became a bit of a detecting game to find the culprit.

My olfactory adventure was epic. I faced a week-and-a-half-old lump of garlic mashed potatoes. They had attitude. But I bitch-slapped them into submission with a dirty spatula and the garbage disposal.

The 4-day-old Stouffer's Macaroni and Cheese had a hidden weapon. Lodged discreetly under the container was a rather large knife which the Mac and Cheese spitefully launched in my direction as I investigated. Fortunately, I had seen that trick before, so my toes were out of the way before any permanent damage could be done.

The tea pot was growing mold. I'm still not sure how this was accomplished.

The Green Machine* was not growing mold. I'm also not sure how this was accomplished, but it might have had something to do with the tequila.

All of these discoveries, while fascinating (and vile) had led me no closer to discovering the source of The Smell, however. I was beginning to think it was a rehashing of the Potato Incident, but I knew I had not bought any potatoes since then for fear of such a recurrence.

In a fit of brilliance, I decided that even though I hadn't been able to find the smell, I might as well take out the trash.

That's when I discovered the culprit. Rotting chicken at the top of the trash bag. It hadn't smell good when I had found it in the fridge, but I hadn't been in the mood to deal with it (again, the tequila might have had something to do with it), so I'd put it in the trash and forgotten about it.

I think the problem with living alone is that there is never anyone else to blame for mysterious smells and garbage problems. I should get an imaginary roommate or something. Although I don't know if that would really help.