So when I park on the third floor of the parking garage, I rarely take the stairs, because I am a lazy bitch and am often wearing three inch heels. Believe me, I have almost killed myself on those damn stairs trying to walk in stilettos and cuffed pants. Stilettos + cuffed pants + stairs = suicide.
Anyway today I am wearing flats because I had a walk with a customer. I parked on the third floor, and decided to take the stairs. Which I immediately regretted because it smelled like the dirtiest fart ever in the stairwell. Like, one of those farts where someone with lactose intolerance has just eaten a gallon of ice cream and is about to let loose on an unsuspecting toilet. I gagged. I held my breath. But I breathed in again because I was so morbidly fascinated with the odor.
*sniff* Retch! Hold breath. *sniff* Retch! Repeat...
I simply couldn't believe someone could be so uncouth as to let loose such a noxious fart in the stairwell. And there was no mistaking the smell. It was a fart, 100%. I almost got out on the second floor to take the elevator but instead dashed for the first floor, all the while sniffing and retching. It's like when the milk goes bad, and you sniff it and Phew!! That shit is bad. But you have to sniff again because, was it really bad? How bad? Really bad! Clumpy bad. Yech. Your spouse is standing nearby and you know the milk is bad, but you ask them to smell it anyway. Why do we enjoy sharing these disgusting odors with each other?
Ra! That's bad. Throw it out.
*Sniff* Hew doggies, yeah. *sniff* Damn!