Wednesday, November 30, 2011

I don't know how else to say this.............

You fucking stink.

That seems so harsh.  Rude.  Maybe even insensitive.  But isn't brutal honesty sometimes the ONLY way to address an issue?  I don't know.  I'm lost.  I need help on this one faithful readers.  (all 2 of you)

The Prodigal Son is home and he has a friend that insists our basement is a hostel perfectly situated between his place of employment and his home - so the ease of just pulling in here at night after work and crashing is so luring that he cannot help himself.  And since he arrives late, is quiet, doesn't eat any food and leaves early in the morning without a disturbance to anyone in the house, I normally wouldn't give a shit.  Mi casa es su casa, right?  But... he fucking.stinks. 

The first time we encountered the smell of death which resonates from his earthly transport, we mistook the odor for a rotting carcass in the kitchen trash can.  It was only after we'd emptied the trash, scrubbed the can and sink with bleach, threw away everything in the refrigerator and sprayed 32 oz of Lysol around the kitchen, did we realize the smell was not emanating from the kitchen, but instead from the adjacent family room where he was peacefully dozing.  My eyes began to water and the contents of my empty stomach began clawing their way up my esophagus, begging to be released.  Acting swiftly, I shoved two paper towels up each nostril, poured myself a cup of coffee and retreated to the garage where I proceeded to dry heave until we departed the stink infested house for a soccer game.  Upon returning home, I retreated to my bedroom where I remained, with toilet paper shoved up my nose, until he awakened and left for work.  We quickly threw open every window in the house and shampooed the carpets, threw the blankets and sleeping bags on the deck and talked shit on him the remainder of the day. 

We told his father that we got a "whiff" of him and that he did not smell good and suggested he see a doctor immediately as the smell was not of athlete's foot, but instead, something far more serious - perhaps jungle rot?  We told the kid that he needed new shoes and that he couldn't leave his in our house and as a matter of fact, he needed to throw his shoes in the trash and get new ones.  We even told his father to please, for the love of God and little baby Jesus, buy his son new shoes. 

He did get new shoes.  And his socks looked pearly white the next time I saw him.  I was hopeful.  I was pleased.  But 2 minutes after he passed through the kitchen en route to the bathroom and returning to the basement (as we told him he could no longer sleep in the family room on the main level) - the smell wafted through the house again.  This time not so much like sour milk, but more like a locker room after 100 young men returned from and 8 hour practice in 112 degree heat.  And again, I was forced to retreat to my bedroom where I remained until he departed for the day.  And as I carefully made my way to the basement, a can of air freshener in hand and spraying it in front of me to lead the way, yet the odor became stronger and stronger and my eyes began to water and I began to dry heave again. 

I had plans today.  Plans to walk on the treadmill (in the basement).  Plans to put away all the Christmas tubs (in the basement).  Plans to bask in the glory and wonder of this crisp day.  But the plans have been crushed by the sight of his shoes by the back door.  Empty shoes at the back door mean his stinky ass will eventually appear on the main level to use the bathroom and the stench from the basement will spew forth into the kitchen and the remainder of my day will be spent scrubbing with bleach, spraying with air freshener and cussing the young man I once loved and welcomed into my home as my own. 

And the husband, the PS and I will stand in the kitchen looking like deer in the headlights and proclaiming, "SOMEONE.HAS.GOT.TO.SAY.SOMETHING.TO.HIM."  And I, being the rational one in the family, will begin crying, "I can't take it.  I can't live like this.  This is my home and this cannot happen again." 

So please, faithful friends, I need your advice.  How do you address such a delicate situation? 

While you ponder this question and draft your response, I will be out buying candles and lighting 1,200 of them in the house.  Oh... and more air freshener, as I've honestly used 8 cans from Pier One in a month.  I'm going broke over here - H.E.L.P.!!!!!!

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