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The Puke-Mobile

The inside of my nose actually stings.  Try it sometime.  Sniff around for the source of pure grossness, granted that it’s also in your van somewhere, and see if your nose doesn’t just burn after a good half hour.

I was confused at first.  I hadn’t even sat down in the driver’s seat when I smelled it.  Poop of some kind.  Only I’d just changed the kind of diaper you don’t speak about at dinner.  But I’d washed my hands.  And my arms.  And had darn near taken a shower in the sink. 

Still I sniffed each finger.  No, no, no… nothin’ there.  Then my arms and the edges of my shirt.  Nope.  Nothing.  I smelled everything as far as I could lean, drive and still sniff, and it all seemed fine.  It wasn’t the diaper.  Which probably meant it was a gift on someone’s shoe, given generously by a very large dog who was probably giggling in the backyard.

The heater wasn’t helping. 

In Costco’s parking lot, I pulled out the mat that had been under my feet and tentatively gave it a few quick sniffs.   But the harder I sniffed, the less I smelled anything.  No diaper. No dog stuff.  No… 


There it was again.  As soon I closed the door.

Was it me?

Uh…surely not.  Heh heh.

At home it would take a full two-second sniff-over by my husband and me to narrow the reekage to a car seat.  And part of the van floor.  And maybe a little on the back of the driver’s seat.  Where all summer long a car sick three year old barfed and re-barfed en route somewhere.  Only we’d done our best to clean it out with wet wipes and plastic grocery bags at the time.  (*shaking head*) But never a hose.

Which, in all, is merit enough for our suddenly sad van to smell like stomach acid when all the windows are up on this rainy day.

So, if you’ll pardon us in the puke-mobile.  We know it’s raining.  Raining on our faces, our sleeves and whatever’s in our lap.  But it’s more bearable than the window-up alternative.  Where this driver with sensitive nostrils may just pull over and yak in a Fred Meyer bag.

Granted we have one on hand.


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