What’s That Smell?

My first Manhattan apartment was a walk-up rental on the Upper East Side. It was really cute. It had a small living area, which led into a breakfast nook, where I kept a table and chairs. Beyond the dinette area, was the kitchen. It had a fire escape outside the bedroom, which I used as a balcony. So what if I had to climb out of my bedroom window to sunbathe. So, it had a few flaws.

My frenemy, Malice, was staying over for the weekend. We were going to a formal event on Saturday night, which was going to end late, so I offered her my sofa bed. The party was a blast. We looked amazing and met lots of new people. But when we got home, I noticed a strange odor in the apartment. I didn’t say anything to Malice and she didn’t seem to notice. So that was that. I thought.

Malice slept in the living room and I slept in my bedroom. We had a great night’s sleep to recover from the evening’s festivities. But when I woke up, I still smelled the smell. Still didn’t mention it and prepared breakfast; coffee and fresh bagels. All the while, I wondered where the stench was emanating from. But I didn’t see anything. Tried to glance in some corners, under my bed. But the apartment was so small; it was difficult to be discrete, since Malice was always right there in the middle of the living room. From there she could see the entire apartment.

I was setting the dinette table, when, there it was. On the floor, next to the chair on the far side of the breakfast nook. A …. MOUSE!!!!!!

DEAD!!!

UGH!

Now, you gotta understand. I HATE mice! I frrrrreak out at them. I’d had one or two in that apartment before. The one time, had the super remove it while I was out. But the other time, the super told me he wouldn’t be able to remove it for a few days. What? No way. I was NOT going to live in that apartment for three days with a screaming, dying, dead rodent in the next room. No freaking way! So I had to remove it myself.

You don’t understand. I didn’t wanna touch it. I didn’t even wanna see it while I was scooping it into anything. So as not to see it or touch it while I was removing it, I devised a way. I threw a bag over it and pushed it into a garbage can with a yard stick. Screaming bloody murder the entire time!

I tried to keep it cool. Glanced over at Malice, who was talking, non-stop about how gorgeous she looked last night, and how all the men were ogling her boobs. Good. She had no clue what so ever. I didn’t hear a word she said. All I could think of was …

Shit! What was I going to do??????

I nudged it a bit, with the bottom of the chair. Oy, it was mushy. Ewwww. (God, how long was it there???)

I didn’t want her to know. I didn’t want her to think that I lived in a rat-infested slum for God sakes.

But breakfast was ready. The bagels and cream cheese were on the table. And the coffee aroma started to mask out or maybe mix with the dead mouse odor.

She’s all like, “I’m hungry. Let’s eat. I need my coffee in the morning.”

I’m like, “Let’s eat in the living room.” As she strolls over to the kitchen.

“Ok, ok, why don’t you sit ,,,, um ,,,,, here ,,,, um ,,, on this chair?? As I offered her the chair opposite the deceased.

She sat.

She yapped and yapped all through her coffee and bagels and cream cheese, as I tried not to gag, sitting next to Mickey over there. Is this really happening? Please, someone wake me up from this nightmare, or as least make Malice leave so I can clean this shit up!

Nope. No such luck. She continued to re-hash the night ad nauseum.

Finally, she went home. Never seeing the surprise guest. I went to work.

Oy! I thought she’d never leave!!