Slightly Batshit

Well it was a pretty good day. Got to the gym and rode. You’re probably wondering, why batshit? I have a thing about odd smells. Don’t ask me why, but I have an unbelievable sense of smell. Strong fragrances and perfumes will make me physically ill. I avoid them, and people wearing them. I can’t use anything but tide on the laundry. If anything is different I get a wicked headache and the fun puking that follows. So for the past couple weeks I have been picking up on some smell in our kitchen. Something off. Since this is an old, not particularly clean farm house, if figured a mouse. They get into all sorts of places, and unfortunately sometimes die. But it has become clear that isn’t it. I have now spent hours tearing this kitchen apart and have zeroed in on the range. Lots of effort later, I have pulled it out, scrubbed the floor, walls and anything near it. Can’t say I have ever cleaned or moved the damn thing. No dice on fixing the smell. I am now taking the range itself apart. Another hour goes by and it becomes clear the smell it from somewhere in the fucking thing. From what I can tell the oven vent must have a hole in it and grease has ended up between the back piece and the actual oven compartment. Keen as I am to find the odor I don’t have it in me to dismantle a range at 10:30 at night. In case anyone is wondering ranges have about 600 parts and screws that go with them.
This has left me mildly pissed, considering I am still smelling this fucking odor. Hours of work and I still don’t have an answer. Thankfully the dumbass contractor didn’t put a shut off valve or I would have disconnected the thing and dragged it out the front door, I’m not even kidding. My partner is not amused. Not at my ranting about the smell for weeks on end, since she can’t really smell what I am. Now that it is apparent I am not nuts, and there is in fact a smell. She has taken to unscrewing various pieces on the range while I sit here pissed off and typing. Happy New year at the farm. Nothing like tearing a kitchen to pieces to make one’s evening. I will get to the bottom of this smell, if it is the last thing I do. Oh, and my mood is fine.


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