Two days ago I began to be aware of a smell in the house that I couldn’t quite put my finger on . . . Not that I would want to. It stank. But the smell was somehow familiar in a disturbing way. After much thought – and checking of the garbage – I finally had it.
My house, particularly the dining area, smelled like swamp water.
Since we live in a University town amongst college kids, I wasn’t too surprised. The teenaged boys next door have been pumping water out of their basement off and on for the past year. The young man on the other side of us does not have air conditioning.
Then the smell grew stronger as the day progressed. It no longer smelled like a swamp. It smelled like a giant, open vat of sewage. The next morning, I woke up nauseous. We called Hubert, the landlord’s handyman. Hubert came and crawled under the house. He brought a friend with him. . . I think it was so someone would be able to pull him out by his workboots if he fainted.
Hubert found the problem. Or so he claimed. He said that it was a broken lead pipe (excuse me? Lead pipe?) under the house that he fixed with a clamp.
It is now into the third day, and in spite of the lime Hubert liberally sprinkled over the dung swamp under the house, the house still stinks in an alarming way.
My husband swears that the smell is lessening. I disagree. So I lit an armload of scented candles and put them all over the house. ‘Delightful Red’ – whatever that smell is – plus various green candles that smell like apple pie. Now the house smells like I’m burning incense in a dirty diaper. I may never eat apple pie again.
The next stop will probably be a gutted bathroom. And from there, moving. But I hope not.
Let’s hope Hubert brings more lime next time and crawls a little deeper under house. Or brings a stonger flashlight.
It looks like this time, WE are the ones disturbing the whole block.
To leave a comment, just click on the numbered blue circle below. Thanks and have fun!