What is That Smell??

Let me paint a picture: It’s two days after I worked an on-call midnight shift. I’m sleep-deprived, overstimulated, and operating entirely on caffeine and spite. All I asked—all I asked—was for Scott to help with one small thing. 

“Just take Spencer’s clothes out of the dryer,” I said. “and move the load from the washer into the dryer.” 

Easy, right? 

He did that. Technically. 
He removed the clothes (and folded them without being asked - so points for him). 
He transferred the wet ones. 
He did not start the dryer. 

But wait—there’s more.  He also started a brand-new load in the washer… and then forgot about that too. 

Fast forward two days. I’m minding my own business, attempting to function in the lawless wasteland that is my schedule, when it hits me: a smell. A presence. It wafts through the air like a curse summoned by the laundry gods. 

“What is that smell?” I muttered. 

Scott shrugged. Spencer shouted from the living room, “Not me!” 

Which, as we all know, is the universal signal for “definitely me or partially me.” 

What followed was a full-family, nose-led investigation. The three of us stormed through the house, dramatic and accusatory like some kind of chaotic, nose-driven Scooby-Doo gang. 

“I think I found it!” 
“Wait, no—that’s just the trash can.” 
“Check the cat’s butt!” 
“Spencer, is that you?” 
“No! I showered this week!” 

I was fully convinced it was just Spencer’s signature teenage musk—the one that hovers between gym socks and fear—but the scent kept shifting like some malevolent ghost. 

And then, we found it.  In the laundry room.  Radiating evil. 

It was the damp, forgotten load of clothes that Scott “helped” with. They’d been marinating in their own warm, wet funk for two full days in a closed dryer. The smell was something between mildew, regret, and betrayal. 

“Scott,” I whispered, in that tone that sounds calm but also makes pets run and children pray. 

He looked at me. 

“You didn’t start the dryer?” 

He blinked. “You didn’t say to start it.” 

He rewashed one load that finally made it to a running dryer but the second load? I am sad to inform you, that load remained in the washer again for 2 days.  I lost count how many times the second load had to be washed.

Silver lining (for me at least): those loads contained not one item of mine - it all belonged to one stinky teen and one ADHD adult male.

Lesson of the day: never underestimate the power of wet laundry to take down an entire household. And never, ever assume Scott will press all the buttons.