The Mystery Closet Smell

I consider myself to be a 'clean' person. I bathe daily, brush my teeth regularly and empty my trash when it reaches the top of the can. We moved into a new apartment a few months ago and it smelled just like an apartment should. Not good, not bad, just normal.

Well in the last two weeks we have begun to notice that our walk in closet by the kitchen was smelling funny, and I don't mean 'funny ha-ha'. I mean 'funny weird'.

Every time I opened the closet I noticed the smell. I performed the normal inspection to determine the cause, which usually involved looking around, sniffing and shrugging my shoulders. Each time I entered, which was only about every other day, it seemed to get slightly worse.

Well today we had misplaced something or other and we were convinced it was in that closet. I opened the door to a significant increase in the odor emanating from the room. My first thought was that the damn neighbor (upstairs or down, we live in the middle) was taking a shit in their walk in closet and the smell was wafting into our house. "Those Bastards!" I thought.

I continued searching for the missing item when my naked foot slid under a blanket on the floor and touched something wet.

This was not good.

I do not live in a swamp.

My precious, delicate foot was touching something wet.

I pulled the blanket back to reveal an innocent bag of red potatoes. These spuds cannot be the source of the wet, I thought to myself. Until I moved the bag...

Do you know what potatoes smell like when you forget them in your walk in closet for 3 weeks after their due date?

They smell like ASS!

Not like a little fart, or even a floater left in the bowl. But like a gigantic BAG of ASS! When I picked up the seemingly innocent bag, its contents proceeded to pour out of the handy little breathable holes that come standard on every potato bag.

Now I was holding a five pound bag of spoiled ass that was leaking all over my foot and I had no where to go. To make a long story short there were paper towels flying, bleach spilling, foul language and now my foot smells like someone took a shit in a bottle of bleach.

The moral of this story is: "Be careful where you keep your Taters."