The Fridge

As you sit in your purple silk boxers and undershirt with the words "I Hate Mondays" written on it this morning, eating Honey and Sugar Whoop-de-doos(tm), you nearly gag as a smell permeates your nostrils.

It's a horrible, nasty, unsanitary, putrid smell.  Almost like the smell Aunt Petaline has when she comes over for a visit, but not nearly as sour.

You toss your spoon into your half-empty bowl, and smack your tongue against the roof of your mouth.  The smell is almost overwhelming.  You stand with the intention of sniffing out this repugnant odor, then sit back down.  You sit for a bit, wondering how silly you would look to your roommates if they saw you wandering around the house just sniffing randomly.  Then you remember you don't have roommates.  You shrug, stand, and begin sniffing around for the source of the stench.

You leave the kitchen and enter the living room and find that the stench has diminished.  Logic would dictate that the farther away from the stench you get, the less it would stink.  But, since you've never really been logical in your entire life, you proceed down the hallway.

The End

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