It’s just not Thanksgiving til you realize that peculiar
scent accompanying your turkey plate is…
Well, let me give you the set up first: I was at what would
effectively be the “kiddie table”. A coffee table used to conserve space for
the buffet-style Thanksgiving. And to be sure, everything was lovely.
Traditional fare: buttery potatoes, corn, stuffing [unstuffed, of course
because it’s apparently unsafe these days, despite years of stuffing in turkeys
which we all survived], pumpkin custard.
The different aromas enjoin in a briney, herbed scent that
tempts everyone for hours until dinner is finally ready.
So we kneeled around the coffee table and I noticed just a
slightly –different- scent mingling among the steaming plates. A little off.
But perhaps I was being ungrateful
on this holiday of gratefulness and thanks. Was it a secret family recipe?
My nose scanned the air again to detect the origin. It may
be said that I have a well tuned palate and detect the pure chocolate created
from the bean plucked from an Ecuadorian rainforest compared to the inferior
bean adulterated with *gulp* vanillin.
This scent was a bit
sour. Sour cream in the mashed potatoes?
I leaned over to Little Daughter’s plate to discreetly sniff since I don’t eat
mashed potatoes.
No. The scent trail stopped. Not from the potatoes.
Was it perhaps...of human origin?
 |
| Good God. We haven't even had the lima beans yet. |
No. It lingered and wasn't -you know- of the inner workings.
A little acidic. Maybe a sweet and sour preparation with delicate
rice vinegar?
Absolutely not. There was beginning to be nothing delicate
about this…smell.
I panned the table and peered into the kitchen again on the
pretense of fixing a drink. Was there a foreign dish that made its way into the
celebration? A donation, perhaps?
Curiously, the sour aroma faded as a approached the kitchen instead of getting stronger! The
culprit was not there!
We ate. Tentatively. Nothing at the table could be assigned
to the scent. But they say that 70% of your sense of taste is through your
sense of smell. And it just was making me feel a little ill, to be absolutely
honest. Where had I smelled this before?
It followed me. Was *I* perhaps guilty of contributing the offense? Were those around me too polite to say so?!
The horror of that thought made my face hot. I turned my head to disguise what surely was my skin blushing in my own disgust. When I did, sure enough the whiff emanated from my very own butt.
Gah!
It couldn't be! I'm fully in control of my faculties, and besides, it's understood that in my delicacy, I do not perform certain functions. Ever. Never ever.
Impossible!
My butt was a victim! Framed! In the cruelest of ways, it was a set-up.
I had sat in something foul.
On my last bite of turkey, sitting across from me on the floor at the coffee table, my host’s son crinkled up his nose and said, “Mom, did you clean up all the dog vomit that was right here?”
The horror of that thought made my face hot. I turned my head to disguise what surely was my skin blushing in my own disgust. When I did, sure enough the whiff emanated from my very own butt.
Gah!
It couldn't be! I'm fully in control of my faculties, and besides, it's understood that in my delicacy, I do not perform certain functions. Ever. Never ever.
Impossible!
My butt was a victim! Framed! In the cruelest of ways, it was a set-up.
I had sat in something foul.
On my last bite of turkey, sitting across from me on the floor at the coffee table, my host’s son crinkled up his nose and said, “Mom, did you clean up all the dog vomit that was right here?”
 |
| He even looks a little queasy, doesn't he? |
Mystery solved. But apparently he's not the kind of dog who vomits and then is thoughtful enough to eat it back up again.
Now that the ice was broken so to speak - I felt I could approach the subject freely.
"It's a little vomit-y over here," I said. But I was smiling. Kinda. We're friends, after all, and nurses. However, despite the conception that nurses have heard it all and don't blink at any foul topic, I draw the line at fresh vomit-y stains wafting sour bile two feet from Thanksgiving dinner. And my friend had just gone to all the trouble to prepare this lovely feast, so I naturally couldn't lodge a complaint without offering to clean it up myself.
She directed me to the baby wipes (??) and febreze Hawaiian Breeze.
For future reference? Baby wipes are not effective against vomit-y stains.
So the smell sort of went from ghastly sickening to sour-nursery with a touch of coconut.
And we liked our Thanksgiving and had fun. Maybe not the dog, who is outside trying to poo. No photo for that.
My friend just said she smelled something stinky inside, so it's time to investigate.
There are two other dogs that live here.
Now that the ice was broken so to speak - I felt I could approach the subject freely.
"It's a little vomit-y over here," I said. But I was smiling. Kinda. We're friends, after all, and nurses. However, despite the conception that nurses have heard it all and don't blink at any foul topic, I draw the line at fresh vomit-y stains wafting sour bile two feet from Thanksgiving dinner. And my friend had just gone to all the trouble to prepare this lovely feast, so I naturally couldn't lodge a complaint without offering to clean it up myself.
She directed me to the baby wipes (??) and febreze Hawaiian Breeze.
For future reference? Baby wipes are not effective against vomit-y stains.
So the smell sort of went from ghastly sickening to sour-nursery with a touch of coconut.
And we liked our Thanksgiving and had fun. Maybe not the dog, who is outside trying to poo. No photo for that.
My friend just said she smelled something stinky inside, so it's time to investigate.
There are two other dogs that live here.
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