The smell hit my nostrils as soon as we stepped through the front door. And it was not a good smell.
Our yard backs up to a greenspace, which means we have all sorts of critters that meander into our backyard. Cute little squirrels, curious raccoons, and even the sporadic deer.
And, apparently, we also have skunks.
Which are not cute at all. Especially when they spray their nastiness right outside the vent that airs into our kitchen and entire house.
“Ugh!” I gagged out the words as we entered the house.
But apparently, the scent must have drifted upwards. Because my kids didn’t smell a thing.
“What’s wrong, momma?” Bobo chirped, oblivious to the stench around her.
“I smell a skunk,” I answered back, as I debated about whether opening the windows would make the problem better, or worse.
“I don’t smell anything,” she replied nonchalantly.
But I did. And as we moved further to the back of the house, the pervasive odor only got worse.
“Oh, man,” I said. “I can’t believe you guys don’t smell that. Seriously. Does it stink in here, or is it just me?”
Bobo kicked off her shoes, and came over to where I was standing. Eerily close. Like she was sniffing me out or something. Which, in fact, she was.
“No, it’s not you,” she said, finally. “You smell really pretty, momma.”
And her kind gesture made me feel a little better. At least I knew that I didn’t smell like a skunk. Even if my entire house did.