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This One Time There Was a Dead Mouse in My Car
Posted by Bethaney - Tagged , , ,
This One Time There Was a Dead Mouse in My Car

If you’ve never had a dead mouse in your car – or any type of dead animal, really – consider yourself lucky. Like winning-the-lottery-of-not-dealing-with-disgusting-things and being-allowed-to-live-your-life-without-barf-inducing-side-effects lucky.

For those non-winners, however, something else good will come your way. And quickly. Going through such a ridiculous, awful, sewageswigging slimball experience is too jumbo jerky to not have a counter. It just can’t.

For starters, dead mouse(es) smell terrible. Like, imagine rotting meat terrible, but way worse. Then imagine that smell being blasted into your face, straight up your breathing/smelling airways. And the only option to get a little bit of scent relief is to turn off the heater (somewhat reducing the cooked meat smell), but also freezing in the process. Or, when your windows are fogging up, rolling the windows down, and freezing even more. Because that is the far better option.

It’s like that, but every time you get in your car ever for three weeks. Even when your friend blasts it with tangerine Febreeze.

Slow traffic has never been so infuriating.

The Dead “Mouse”

bad smell warning sign nose plugsIf I’m being honest, there’s zero proof this was actually a mouse. I’m just assuming on account of my roommate having caught three-ish mice with a trap in her car. Then one more that was flattened from inner moving car parts.

Mine, however, was never located. It could have been eaten by some car-thrifty vulture, or decayed to the point of falling out of the air vents, you know, if that’s possible. But whatever actually happened, I didn’t see it. I even had some car-handy friends take a look. They undid screws and pieces and everything.

No mouse nowhere.

The Peak of Stink

clown car full of people crowded vehicleRight when the stench was at its worse, I was designated Daving some friends around. In pajamas since we were going to a onesie party. Where seven people piled into a five-seat car. Smushed and gasping for air, and also balancing hors d’oeuvres.

I’m not saying it’s the smartest – or most pleasant – idea we’ve ever had. But we got where we needed to go, had plenty of snacks, and didn’t dawdle about it.

Besides, no one can say I never DD because you KNOW they aren’t forgetting that night.

But here’s the kicker: two days later, the mouse smell was gone. It just disappeared. The day after the party it had kind of trailed off, and by that Monday, was completely gone. Like that dead mouse’s soul said, “Our work here is done,” and after some evil laughs, up and peaced. Like making me smell bad things had been his mission in life all along.

Let’s hope, now that his duties have been fulfilled, he’s suffering. For all the terrible-ness he was able to cause in that short, tiny life.

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