Scentillating: A truly disgusting post about a very bad day

§ September 23rd, 2009 § Filed under pets, whine § 3 Comments

Yeah, I know, it’s spelled “scintillating” and it means something about sparking, but I always thought it was “scentillating,” like a smell you get titillated by (I won’t tell you what I thought “titillated” meant, although I’ll admit I thought “-illated” was “elated”).

ANYWAY. Already it’s been a day and it’s only half over. To explain, let me back up a week.

A little over a week ago I made a turkey. I never do this, and I shouldn’t because two people simply cannot eat that. much. poultry. The night I made it, I took the good meat off, dumped the carcass in the trash, and had Matt take it out to the trash can. That was a Monday. The trash goes out Wednesdays. Last Wednesday morning, I recall thinking, “Oh, there’s only one bag in the trash can; it doesn’t need to go out this week.”

I believe I’ve mentioned before that I am the world’s worst prognosticator? Yes. It is true.

By Thursday, the trash can reeked as if, well, as if something had died in it, which is only technically untrue in that it died and then went to the trash can to start decomposing. I suppose that keeping the lid of the black trash can closed in the baking sun helped that decomposition accelerate a tiny bit. Nonetheless, when today — a new trash day — rolled around, I was more than happy to wheel that smell-o-can to the curb. And needless to say, it was not nearly that simple.

Apparently I’d forgotten about the glass I broke that was also in the trash with the turkey. My best guess is that when the bag got dropped into the can, the glass broke the plastic and, well, things started leaking. Because Internets, in spite of the garbage truck coming and taking the trash away, there is still rotten turkey juice ALL OVER MY TRASH CAN. It does NOT smell nice.

Right about the time I realized this, I picked up the recycling bin to take it back inside. I got as far as the front door when I noticed the scent and moisture that suggested Trollop had been there shortly before me: yes, the damn cat had jumped into the plastic tub, sprayed her evil forces of urine, and jumped back out again. (Her wrath at no longer living inside the house is unbounded.) I put the bin out in the grass so I could clean up the trail of drops, but on my way downstairs to acquire a rag, I ran into the world’s largest spider, which I would totally have taken a photo of if I hadn’t been so busy freaking out about having nearly brushed it with my elbow. This sucker was the size of a small tarantula, and what’s worse, it didn’t die on the first or the second smack of a now-discarded-but-priorly-perfectly-good notebook.

So finally, having disposed of the spider and cleaned the cat drippings on the porch, I stepped into the backyard to wash out the recycling bin. Did you know that dog poop is nearly the exact same color as oak leaves when they drop onto the grass?

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