Swallow You Up Whole

I got the stink out of my car on the weekend. That’s right no poopy baby bottoms and already there was a stink. I hate stink. I am totally not beyond sniffing around for hours to find the source of a stink and usually I’m pretty good at it too. But not this time.

For the last two weeks my car has had a not-so-vague rotten sandwich smell. I checked everywhere. Under the seats. In the glove box. In the trunk. Nothing. What do you say when someone gets into your car and it smells like green cheese?

Rob was sure that I had lost a sandwich somewhere. I will admit that there was this one time when I misplaced a bag of red onions for so long that they liquefied. Not even kidding. I eventually sniffed them out and poured them down the stink. But never have I been less likely (in my entire life) to misplace something as delicious as a whole sandwich.

So I took the stinker for a premium interior clean. When I went to pick up my shiny smells-like-roses-and-pinesol car I gathered up the courage to ask “does anyone ever call you about a rotten sandwich smell.” Holy relief! Apparently, it’s common and happens when the cream in spilt coffee gets into the carpets and spoils (and I spill at least a quarter of my coffee every morning on the eight minute drive to work because the pot holes around here pass straight to China). Four days in and still stink-free.