Skunked

This morning, around 6 a.m., Andy and I woke to a horrible, acrid smell.

I can't really describe the smell. It was as if a skunk was burning in the furnace. Nasty. Very pungent.

Andy's first thought was that something caught fire and plastic was burning. Burning plastic, that's a good description.

We unplugged all the thingies with plugs. Nothing was melted. Nothing was warm. But the smell did seem to be concentrated in the bedroom.

I theorized that a skunk was on the roof and something scared the pocheese out of him. Andy said there were no skunks in the middle of winter. But, I countered, it's been unseasonably warm. Despite Jenny's lament that she was freezing, it's been warm for this time of year and some tulips are starting to bloom.

I got use to the funky smell. We opened windows to air out the house. The cats are on the back porch having the time of their kitty lives, smelling stuff. I began not to notice the stench until we came back from grocery shopping. The house reeks. I know I reek because the car even smells funky, and that's just from the funk on my clothes, from inside the house the skunk sprayed.

I hate skunks now. I've converted.