I really thought it wouldn’t happen again. I thought it couldn’t happen again – I believe in a God who I believed with all my heart and soul wouldn’t let it happen again. My faith has been rattled, my nostrils burned and my personal scent? Pungent.
A couple of months ago, a skunk sprayed my home twice in one week. My three roommates and I thought the skunk did it in passing until it happened the second time. After fighting with landlords and the city, a maintenance man came to the house and sealed the opening in the foundation the skunk was using to enter and exit – at night of course, because skunks are nocturnal and can only spray once every few days. He swore the skunk was out of the hole when he sealed it – he swore.
Our house smelled stale after the hole was closed, but I accepted it. After all, it had been doused in anal spray, so why would I expect it to smell like fresh cotton? My roommates and I were almost able to laugh about with each other, but it still wasn’t OK for others to utter one word about the stale smell. They hadn’t endured what we endured, and until they had, none of us tolerated any laughter at our misfortune.
Every once in a while, I’d catch a whiff of fresh skunk, but I ignored it and blamed it on the trash or spoiled food. But we took out the trash, and we cleaned out the fridge. We were too afraid to believe it could happen again. No one should have to endure this three times.
Monday morning, the reminiscent smells of burning rubber, garlic and sulfur danced through the living room as though they were mocking us. That evening, I made angry phone calls to the landlord at an inappropriate hour, and I sent an outraged e-mail to our property manager. Once again, I was left with the news the city will provide a trap and pick up the body.
Lucky for us, the body was already there.
The skunk died under our house, and its rotting corpse had been the culprit ever since I caught that first post-skunk whiff of death. My beloved roommates and I have been assured the body will be removed immediately. We were also assured the skunk was out of the hole two months ago.
I hate skunks. When I take road trips and I see a skunk on the highway, I purposely rerun over its mangled little body because I need to make sure it’s dead. I need to make sure it won’t follow me home and spray my belongings, all of which are saturated with the odor. Tell me that’s disgusting, and I have a problem. But first, come over and hang out in the living room for a while. I’m past the point of apologizing for my smell, and I’m past the point of looking for the life lesson in this ordeal. We have three weeks left. I stink, my stuff stinks and my house stinks.
I’m sure there’s a life lesson I’m just too stubborn and upset to realize. Maybe I’ll figure it out this summer after I’ve moved and done a few thousand loads of laundry. For now, my saving grace is knowing this, too, will end. I promise, friends, this, too, will end.
