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Name: margalit
Location: Massachusetts, United States Professional writer, educational advocate, opinionated ultra liberal mother of 18 year old twins, living life in the slow lane due to hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, congestive heart failure, and diabetes.

email: margalitc at yahoo dot com

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Friday, December 02, 2005

The Stink

On Tuesday, Mary came to clean the house. Mary is my home health aide, and she's a real peach. She does my laundry and folds it up and puts it away. She changes my sheets and makes up my bed just the way I like it. She cleans our house, she grocery shops, and she goes to the dreaded Walgreens to pick up my prescriptions and get pushed and shoved by the rudest customers and pharmacists on earth. Before I had Mary, these things just didn't get done because it was too hard for me lots of the time. But now, my house works like clockwork and I can plan for Mary to show up at 7:45am and be in a good mood, and work hard. She's great, and I'm going to ask you guys to help me think of an appropriate Christmas gift for her, because she's been so good for us.

But anyhow, while she was here, the house started smelling really really terrible. At first I thought she might have used something weird to wash the floors or something, because the smell was mostly concentrated in the living and dining rooms. It smelled like kerosene. That greasy oily stench that permeates the air around it. I opened both the back and front doors and aired out the house, and the smell seemed to be gone.

And that night I went upstairs, and my bedroom smelled like kerosene. I couldn't believe it, plus it was making me wheeze like crazy. On close investigation, I discovered that all the laundry she had done stunk like kerosene. All of it, including my bedding, my underwear, etc. I opened a window and aired out the room and changed the pillowslips, but basically my clean clothing all reeked. That night I was up the entire night wheezing and coughing. When the Boy got up I asked him to smell my underwear in the top drawer, and sure enough, he said it stank, too. Did the same with the girl, but she can't smell anything as she's all stuffed up right now.


I had no clue as to what to do, so I did nothing. That usually works well for me. I asked a couple of people and mentioned that there was some road work going on by the barn on the street behind us. It was suggested that maybe something got into the water. I pondered that for a bit, and then remembered seeing an oil truck at the house next door. We don't have heating oil here, we're all on gas, and I couldn't figure out why he would be here. Light dawned over Marblehead and I thought, it's not kerosene, it's home heating oil. They have the same nauseatingly greasy smell. I sent the Boy down to the basement where he said it stank, but he didn't see any oil down there. I'll wander down there tomorrow, but if indeed it is heating oil, it means the hazmat team has to come and clean it up. Who is going to pay for this latest disaster? Why do these things keep happening to me?

I'm going to keep the bulkhead open as long as it doesn't rain, and hopefully that will air out the stink. If some jackass delivered oil into the basement, I swear, I'm going to kill him. We don't have a tank. We don't have oil. We don't have an oil account.

Apartment complexes are looking better and better.
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1 Comments:

Blogger Candace said...

Me again. I'm trying to read more of your blog. Anyway, if it's not too late to suggest a Christmas gift for Mary? How about a gift certificate at SuperSuppers? There must be one (or several) in the Boston area. I wrote about SS on my blog yesterday (see "Cookin").

7/12/05 11:07 PM  

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