• Erin P Griffith

That Smelly Smell That Smells...Smelly

Came home from school today to find that the garage and subsequently the entire house smelled of gasoline. The kids and I turned on all of the fans, opened the garage door and opened a few windows (not too many since it was 29 degrees outside). We put on our coats, hats, and gloves and settled in to watch How to Train Your Dragon (for like, the 100th time). I texted my husband about the issue since he established dominance over the garage and all of the "thingies" therein (with the exclusion of my Jeep, Lucifer, who he despises and wishes would finally die so I can get a mini van- but does evil ever truly die?). He immediately left work for home.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, i'm pretty sure the fumes were giving me brain damage. Since it was colder than my black heart outside, the fumes were not moving very speedily out the doors and windows. I should have realized that this would happen; I mean, I've been teaching this shit for eleven years. Cooler temperatures cause matter to move more slowly...duh! I also had, at this point, adapted to the smell and therefore, could no longer smell the smell.

Eric gets home and searches the garage for the smell. He finds that the riding lawn mower is leaking gasoline. Leaking gasoline onto the plywood platform that it is sitting on. So we don't even get the consideration of a nice puddle; instead, we have a piece of wood that has absorbed all of the gasoline.

His solution, leave the leaking mower in the garage, seal up the door to the garage, and go get dinner...because he is hungry. Fair enough.

At this point I am pretty sure that the brain damage has spread to the part of my brain that controls hunger, because I would have rather gone to an evil clown convention than eat. Instead, I do research and find several posts that suggest putting kitty litter and baking soda on the gasoline to help absorb the gas and lessen the smell.

It is also at this point, inside of Buffalo Wild Wings, that I notice that the smell of gasoline has stuck to us like stank to a skunk. My hair smells like a combination of Pantene, Ralph Lauren, and a highway truck stop. Weirdly enough, Eric's cologne mixed with the smell of gasoline makes him smell extra manly...not even fair. He gets to smell like he's been working on cars all day and doing other very "manly" tasks; while I smell like i've been begging for money at my local Speedway.

After dinner, we pick up the supplies, and head home. I also picked up some gum to chew to try to get the weird taste out of my mouth from inhaling gasoline fumes. We walk into the house...

Eric: Do you smell gas?

Abby: I smell gas.

Will: I smell gas

*all eyes turn to me*

Me: I'm pretty sure I have brain damage because I can't smell it.

Eric: It's because you are chewing mint gum, go spit it out.

Me: *spits out gum and waits a minute* Nope still nothing.

Eric: Something's wrong with you.

Me: Yeah, it's the brain damage!

At this point I figure that my brain is already poisoned so I might as well go ahead and put kitty litter and baking soda on the gas spill; I mean, the damage is done- time to take one for the team.

Who knew that such a small spot could perfuse an entire house?

I feel that it is prudent to say that, if the whole kitty litter/baking soda thing fails, that we are probably stuck with the smell until it gets warmer and we can wheel the platform out into the sun and let the gasoline completely evaporate and the wood dry out.

On the positive side, if the brain damage becomes permanent, I have a great excuse to stop teaching and start working on "Life Plan B." "Life Plan B" is also known as the "Crazy Cat Lady Directive" which allows me to collect cats (a variable which has no defined value or limit), give said cats ridiculous names (like Count Whiskers Fluffybritches or Duke Fluffles McCutsietoes), and wear a housecoat, pajamas and slippers at all times (note to self: find out what a housecoat actually is.), and watch The Price is Right.

Let's all hope it doesn't come to that.


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