Saturday, March 31, 2012

Just ew...

So, I get home tonight after a very long week of work and my house smelled like... well, there's just no nice way to put it... my house smelled like death.

I called my husband who was away at a shoot and said, "Honey, the house smells like death (ok, in reality I used a lot more profanities, but I gotta think of the kids when I relay this story)."

"Oh yeah," he said. "It's possible there's part of a dead bird behind the couch."

Oh yeah? Really? A dead bird behind our couch is not something worthy of leaving a note, or, you know... removing?

It's a good thing I love you sweetie, because this was a serious fail.

I'd like to tell you that I put on rubber gloves, moved the couch and removed the half-eaten bird I can only imagine was brought in by one of my lovely kids, but, well, that just wouldn't be me. Instead I called an exterminator who promptly laughed at me and then had my gardener come over and remove the offensive smell.

So, here I sit in a home that only sort of smells like rotting flesh with 4 babies, each of whom is the probable perpetrator, wondering where exactly I went wrong with my life.

Dr. Em

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