Miguel and I now have a new running fight, over a phantom smell in our kitchen. He keeps insisting that something smells bad in our fridge. Occasionally, he is right. When I have cabbage slaw, or fish, or chopped onions in there, sometimes not even Tupperware can contain the aroma. But once I get rid of the offending item, the smell goes away. And every Monday night, prior to garbage day Tuesday, I dutifully go through and remove everything that’s been in there past its prime. It’s not like I’ve got putrid moldy Tupperware in there.
And yet he continues to insist it smells, and begins a whole smell spiral of doom, moaning that we have a house that smells. And he gets pissed at me for not being able to smell it. And I get pissed at him right back, because, um NO. I do the vast majority of the “real” cleaning in our house. Miguel will run the vacuum and pick up clutter (read: shove out of site somewhere, then be unable to recall touching an object I’m looking for which I will then find 3 months later shoved in the entertainment center, where I know g.d. well I did not put it. Ahem, but that’s another rant…), but when it comes to the deep regular cleaning needed-that is all me. He would use the same towel for a month as it develops an ever stronger mildew smell and gets so stiff it holds its shape after use, if I left him to his own devices and didn’t change and wash the towels regularly. Ditto the bed sheets. And I will not even get into the horror that is “his” bathroom. One time I let it go, but finally had to clean it for company coming and felt like I had walked into a particularly groady seedy gas station bathroom. So I take extreme offense to him insinuating that I can’t identify something smelly/dirty.
Last night, after another round of this, I waited a couple hours and then deliberately pulled the fridge open very quickly and stuck my face in for a big whiff. Nothing. I really can not smell anything in particular. He’s so adamant that there is an aroma permeating the fridge and kitchen though, that I’m starting to doubt myself. Maybe years of smoking have dulled my sense of smell. But I’m not smoking now, and I never really was a pack a day habit or anything (more like a pack a week), so I can’t see it having such a long term detrimental effect. So clearly, the problem must be him. I’ve decided he must have some kind of olfactory disorder that causes him to have an uber-sensitive sniffer. It’s like his superhero power. He could be “The Nez,” or maybe “The Stench,” I can’t decide. But either way, his costume would look like this: