Do I still smell? Do I? Do I?
I had hoped not. But when I got into the car headed home, and my friend went
“Whoa. Still got the smell!”
In my mind I just went
“Yeah… yeah… ”
What are the odds? I was hurrying to a previous pick up and was crossing a patch of grass beside the pavement. Just a few strides short of reaching the car, one of my steps landed with an exceptionally loud pop under my feet. I literally jumped and then looked around in the dark on the ground.
Snail? Couldn’t be. That would’ve just crunched. I would’ve felt sorry, but as I were to find out, not as sorry as I was going to be.
I lifted up my feet one at a time under the light of the street lamp in assessment of the anomaly and noticed the pasty looking substance splattered up the leg of my jeans.
That mud? Cos if it were, I could deal easily with that. Once, I’d accidentally squished my shoes across an overly waterlogged field and all I had to do was wait the next day for the mud to dry off. I didn’t even bother washing it out my shoes that time.
This… this was something else. With the pop and all. This needed some investigation and the smell was starting to make its presence felt.
The full-blown realization of what exactly it was was going to come from my next course of action. Index finger to the wetness.
What are the odds? At first, looking at the grainy texture, my worst fear was that it was some sort of excrement. Canine, to be exact. And deduction would put the pop In the way of a plastic bag.
So my first guess was that someone left a tied up bag of dog shit in the grass along the pavement. That would have really angered me because if that were the case, I’d have just stuck my finger in shit.
But then the finger, after the slight contact with ‘mystery substance brown and grainy’, brought to the nose, shattered that deduction, to a bit of my delight. Well, I’m not sure if I was that much delighted after we finally did realize what had happened. But just that slightly.
To be fair, I’d never, to my recollection had, nor currently need that close a sniff, to know what shit usually smells like, no matter it’s likeness, which did sometimes come in the pastiness that I was seeing now.
Sorry for the analogy. But it’s like chocolate.
You have dark chocolate, milk chocolate, praline, ganache. All of those different forms. But all smell chocolatey.
Works the same with shit. Different presentations but all ultimately… faecal.
I’d probably be fine, not moving any closer even when a whiff of it punched me up the nose in any rush of passing air (or gas… see what I did there?). If anything I’d probably want to get as far out of its way.
No. This wasn’t literally shit. This was somewhat condiment-y. Spoilt condiment-y at that.
Shudder. So what was it?
Curry? It would have made more sense if it were a bag of shit in the grass. What would a tied up bag of curry be doing in the grass in the dark? And what are the odds that I would have popped one under my feet, baptizing me from the ground up in an expired spiced hell sauce straight from 17th century India. Thoughts ran through my mind again as to how this may have come to be.
But then, deed done, thoughts ran through my mind about how I was about to become the source of a horrific, unwelcome odor emanating from below the level of my knees. I reached the car and in a matter seconds, a rescue from my mess and her own sense of smell begun.
Auntie scrambled to aid with an arsenal of cleaning supplies, tossing tons of tissues, wet wipes, hand sanitizer, an air-freshener spray and plastic bags in my direction to ensure a proper mop up of the mess before approval to enter her car would be given.
Even then. Windows down. Vicks inhaler shoved up her right nostril.
I honestly felt bad. But the night was about to end early to the very welcome nasal relief of those around me.
Anyway, final deduction.
Lunch. Picnic style. Seated on the grass, as workers in the area would often conveniently settle in for.
Bag of curry, unused. Left behind since the afternoon.
Splat. There you go.
And me, likely entering a period of slight Hastenburaphobia. Especially in the dark.