Glenn is back at work so the dining room (home office central) is quieter but I still like to escape to the basement because it's cooler down there and since it's not right by the kitchen, no one asks me to make them ramen. For the last week or so, the basement has been a little stinky but I brushed it off to normal basement funk, we've had some rain, the dogs sleep down there, etc. Finally today I couldn't ignore it any longer. I threw all of the dog bedding in the wash, which is no easy feat because there's enough dog hair on those old towels and blankets to make another dog. I even threw some of the older rugs away. I smelled everything and it mostly smelled of dog. But I thought well maybe that'll take care of everything. I resumed my spot on the couch and the smell was just as bad. It hit me what I was smelling. Something was rotting. In our basement. I knew it wasn't animal because if the cats had caught a mouse, they wouldn't have been able to keep it to themselves and I have no doubt it would have been paraded through the kitchen like a trophy. It hit me. A giant bag of potatoes, one that we bought in our more desperate "we'd better stock up on stuff" was literally turning into liquid on the basement carpet. I threw the pre-vodka potatoes (is that how they make vodka?) into the trash (I couldn't even carry them to the compost because it was really gross and there were already bugs) the garage and sprayed the carpet with every cleaner we had in the house. There's still a slight rotten-y perfume but I'm taking the steam cleaner down there next. So, yes. We've been in the house for 122 days straight and still didn't notice a bag of potatoes turning to dust. Well not dust, I'm looking for a metaphor that won't make anyone gag more than they are already.
So I know I don't have COVID-19 today because my sense of smell is still very intact. Ewwww.
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