The Stank Surprise

Bathrooms are inherently stinky places. I mean, just think about the shit that goes on in there (pun totally intended. You're welcome). So unless you're in there scrubbing the grout with a toothbrush every day, it's probably going to smell not-so-fresh at least on occasion.

But let me tell y'all from experience: when you've got four boys who all use one bathroom, the stink factor increases a thousandfold. I will never (ever, ever, e-ver) quite understand how they can miss the toilet when they are literally equipped with aim-able body parts (I even wrote a poem about it). Nevertheless, they do. ALL THE TIME. I find pee sprinkled in baffling places - like they have some kind of magic extending junk that can reach a five-foot radius. I envision that it goes something like this:

via funnyjunk.com

Oh, and let's not forget that my boys' bathroom is literally also the one and only good place in my entire house to keep the cats' litter box. So on top of controlling the kids' funk, I have to keep a handle on the cats' as well. Good times! *insert eye roll here*

Anyhoo, I'm usually decent at keeping the bathroom smells at bay. But for the past week or so, I've been catching the occasional whiff of something terrible. It was a rancid, fishy smell, ranking right up there with the nose-burning odor of the water gun full of stale piss I found stashed in my kids' closet one time. (Yes, really.)

In response, I scoured the toilet, and the floor around it, with even more vigor (and more bleach) than usual. I scrubbed the bathtub and the double sink. I washed the bath mat in case it was sour or moldy or something. I bought those expensive in-wash scent boosters to use on my towels. I sniffed at drains to see if there was some kind of gross hair clog smelling up the joint. I washed the freaking curtains. I bought scented, odor-absorbing crystals for the cat box. I put in fresh litter erry day. And no sooner had the cats entered the litter box and poised themselves to drop a turd, there I was with the pooper scooper at the ready. I kept the window cracked open, hoping a constant stream of fresh air would help.

But the smell persisted - got worse, even. Vexing me. Turning me into (even more of) a madwoman.

And then one day, when I was crouched down sniffing at the baseboards just in case because OMFG THAT SMELL HAS GOT TO BE COMING FROM SOMEWHERE DAMMIT, I smelled it more strongly than ever. I got on my hands and knees and followed the offending scent like a bloodhound. It appeared to be leading me to a cabinet I never use. Like I said, that bathroom has a double sink - and underneath one of them, I store extra toilet paper and kitty litter, but the cabinet beneath the other is a ghost town. Or at least I thought it was ... until I opened it and discovered the nastiest surprise I've had since my kids were pants-pooping toddlers.

A whole stack of dishes. Gross, used dishes with moldy, nasty, grody food. A bowl of leftover cereal milk that had curdled and turned black. BLACK MILK, Y'ALL. Some sort of hamburger bun or roll that was so hard it could've been used as a weapon. Cups, once filled with who-knows-what, now filled with crusty remnants and sadness.

This was AFTER A RINSE WITH PRESSURIZED HOT WATER.

Apparently Colin (my 12-year-old) was at some point too damn lazy to bring his putrid dish collection downstairs to the dishwasher, so he hurriedly stashed them in the unused bathroom cabinet instead, conveniently located right next to his bedroom. He probably thought he'd bring them down later when I wasn't looking and then forgot. So there they were, chillin' in their own ever-multiplying filth. Damn kid.

I threw the bowl away. You know I'm not above just pitching something that's too daunting to clean (anybody remember the Great Kitchen Set Incident of 2009?). The rest went through a disinfect cycle in the dishwasher, where they came out sparkling clean, with no traces of their traumatic past.

But my nose is still traumatized, and probably always will be.

At least my bathroom is sterile.