I'm a Winner

MacGyver and I have been very, very careful to not waste food, as it costs money, which we need more of so we can buy a dryer. Unfortunately, I let something slide. Yesterday I was cleaning the kitchen, and had to throw out the kitty litter and six-week-old chicken legs. I had the genius idea to empty half the litter (absorbent pine pellets!) into the trash, dump in the meat real quick, and pour the rest of the litter on top. I mean, it's odor-absorbing, so what could go wrong?

I'll tell you.

Chicken so old it's starting to liquefy is far more potent than cat poo, and even the power of pine is no match for it. When I finally shook it out of its container, I nearly retched. It smelled like a rotting corpse. I would know. The last thing that smelled this bad was the week old cadaver of a man who had perished in his unair-conditioned apartment in July the summer I interned at the morgue. When we got him, he had a vivid green cast to his dark brown...skin. We had to slough off what had been his epidermis so we could read his tattoos. Also? Two of his girlfriends called the morgue looking for him. And? He was HIV+. It was a memorable day.

Anyway, I ran to the bathroom and turned on the exhaust fan. I was still feeling vomity when I called MacGyver to find out where the Hell the garbage can was. I had never paid attention to where he took the trash, to me it just disappeared to a magical land where I never had to deal with it, ever. He said something like "You opened it up inside?!?" and I yelled something about believing the cat litter would take care of it, and he told me to look out the window so I could notice where the trash can was, and I retorted that I couldn't see out the window because I was hiding from the smell. There was silence, I believe he was reflecting on how he won the spouse lottery. I mean, some wives have jobs and watch their weight and can remember the last time they washed their hair. Me? When I call, he has no idea what's going to come out of my mouth. I'm interesting.