WHY DOES MY CAR SMELL LIKE A TRASH DUMPSTER, is something I may have asked in my outside voice this morning when I slid into the van to take the kids to school.
To clarify, I would describe the status of my housekeeping skills as, “comfortably lived-in, but never a pig stye.” We keep our cars the same way. You might find a stray backpack or gum wrapper, but that’s about it. Trust me, The Colonel wouldn’t have it any other way.
Immediately I turned to my son, because unless I had mistakenly purchased milk, tuna, eggs and meat from the store, then unwrapped them and left them in the back cargo bay of the van under a grow light for three days, I had a feeling the smell could be traced back to him.
He’s 13. He’s a slob. God love him. He’s always on my smells-radar.
Me – Jacob – Why does my van smell like death?
Jacob – *looks around wildly* *mumbles* It’s probably the taco wrapper in my bag.
Me – What? Seriously? Get it. Now. *eyes of irritation*
Jacob – *Opens his backpack, retrieves wrapper without commentary, gets out of car, proceeds to trash can*
Jacob – *Starts to put on seat belt, stops* – Oh, wait. I think I have one in my other bag too. And I don’t think I finished that one.
Me – Tacos? From where?