Chapter Seventeen: The Mysterious Stink

It’s 3:00AM.

Holy crap, what the? Argh . . the dog peed. Somewhere . . . in/on/or near my bed.

Good GAWD.

I feel nothing wet but the stench is unbearable, sour, and gross. And I can’t figure out what exactly he peed on. My pillow? Sniff. No. My comforter? Sniff. Not there either. Argh… I can’t find the source. Geez Louise. (Well, I am a mother. Bodily fluids yuckier than this have accompanied me to bed in my lifetime, none of which I feel like expounding upon here. Hence, I decide to just roll over, away from the agonizing aroma for the remaining four hours of sleep I have left. I tell myself, “I will find the pee tomorrow while humming the theme song to Mission Impossible.”)

But what is this? When I shift the other direction, I discover that the air on the other side of my bed is filled with the intoxicating scent of the lilies on my nightstand (a gift from my Mom for Easter). I can’t believe the fragrance, it takes me off guard. Wow. Who knew flowers could smell so good without having to shove your nose into the petals. I breathe in deeply.

Turn my head to the right. Ew. The pee.

Turn my head to the left. Ah. The lilies.

Needless to say, I slept with my head turned to the liberal lilly left all night long.

As a writer, my metaphor radar is constantly up and this one is so blatant how can I not comment? Obviously, life itself is filled aspects that are a mix of sorrow and sweet, depressing and delightful, stinky and sensational.

It makes me wonder. Is there really such a thing as a pissy rotten day?

Or is it simply a matter of which direction I turn my head?


(And yes, I zeroed in on the super secret pee spot the next morning. And yes, I washed that blanket. And yes, one dog up for sale/adoption/abduction.)