As a result of chemo there are a number of smells that just make me want to immediately lose my lunch, and this particular smell was registering as a 13 on a scale of 1 to 10. I had moments to investigate, locate the source, and destroy it before there would be a mess.
"What in the name of all that is holy is that SMELL??!!!" seemed a good opening question.
"What are you talking about?" Larry didn't move his eyes from the television.
"You don't smell that?" I was incredulous. How could anyone miss that greenish miasma floating in the air? The mustard gas used in WWI smelled less lethal.
"I don't smell anything," Larry said. Zane didn't say anything; he just kept digging or building or whatever it is you do in Minecraft. I began to hunt around for the cause of such an obnoxious odor, sniffing the air and then gritting my teeth and dry heaving. Fortunately, there were no dead animals underneath the sofa, although I did find a number of empty paper plates. There were no zombies behind the china cabinet, either. As I drew closer to my boy, however, I figured it out.
The foul, offensive odor was my son's stockinged feet. Yes, I have to put this on record: the foulest stench I've ever endured in my almost fifty years, the smell that made me want to projectile vomit all over my living room, was the smell of my son's sweaty, stockinged feet.
I was appalled. I know that teenagers often suffer sweaty, stinky feet. But my boy is SEVEN!!! He is way too young for such stinkiness! Do they even make Odor Eaters for kid feet? If his feet were this horrific now, what would the teen years be like? My brain cringed at the image of my son bereft of a date on Prom Night because he forgot to wear his Odor Eaters. Instead of showing up at school with a left behind lunch, I'd be dropping off a new pair of shoes.
I was making myself dizzy holding my breath and staring at my son's feet. Breathing through my nose, I looked closely at his socks. Perhaps he stepped on something? The socks looked a bit...lived in.
"Zane, when was the last time you changed your socks?"
"I don't know," was my answer. I calculated, using laundry day(Sunday) as the latest possible date.
It was Thursday.
We had a discussion then, about remembering to change his socks on a daily basis. It was the same discussion we have every month. Except this time I told him that if he forgot again, I was just going to throw up on him.
Mutually assured destruction, I called it.
|Stinky feet are NOT genetic.|