Saturday, December 22, 2018

Butt Feet

CasinoPalooza 3 was all fun and games until Mrs. HM nearly lost her cookies.

The trip was off to a great start the first night, with my casino bankroll up a grand total of $5.47 after playing all day and part of the night at six different casinos. The second day was just about the opposite, only I lost more than $5.47! I headed back to the room after midnight, Farmer H and The Pony already pooped out, and Genius and Friend nowhere to be seen, probably having called it quits before me.

I waved my room card in front of that sensor thingy and entered to the sounds of slumber.


What in the NOT-HEAVEN was that odor? I fought down my rising gorge, breathing through my mouth, even though I knew that with every breath, I was sucking molecules of that malodorous funk into my lungs. It was worse, even, than the stench the valet parker left in Jerry's car, causing Elaine to wash her hair in tomato juice, and Jerry to toss his keys to a bum, who opened the car door, and refused that gift car! A dead skunk marinating in the July sun in Missi-freakin'-sippi for two days, then ensconced in the butt-end of a gelatinous hippopotamus carcass for two more days, would have smelled sweeter!

I could only surmise that it was sweaty-butt stench. Like when Farmer H works all day mowing the yard in summer heat and humidity, rivulets of man-sweat trickling in the ravine of his not-so-ample buttocks, and then tosses his used tighty-whities into his clothes hamper with the ventilating holes in the side. Whew! It was all I could do to stop gagging. I daresay I might have actually gotten a whiff of the scent from under the door while unlocking, and thought is was something in the hallway.

The next morning, I told Farmer H that his butt-sweat had marked its territory. Of course, neither he nor The Pony could smell it. I was certain that everybody we passed on the way to breakfast, and in the elevator prior to checking out, could smell us.

Once home, I threw all of my trip clothes into the washer. Farmer H and The Pony didn't unpack yet, but set about relaxing after the long drive, The Pony heading to the basement TV, and Farmer H going out to check on Barry the mini-pony and Billy the goat. When he came back in the Mansion, Farmer H exhaled sharply.

"WHEW! You were right about that smell! This whole house stinks like a dirty butt!"

Of course he didn't rush to the shower, having had one that morning before leaving the casino. But he did go on the prowl, seeking the source of the odor. Farmer H is braver than Mrs. HM. I was sorting out my ID and trip money from my gambling purse into my regular purse when Farmer H sidled up to me in the kitchen, and whispered conspiratorily...

"Do you think it's THE PONY?"

"I don't know. Maybe. You were both in the room, sleeping. But I rode all the way home with The Pony, and I didn't smell anything."

Farmer H went sniffing again. "Pony! Where did you put your shoes?"

"In my room."

Farmer H headed that direction. *COUGH*COUGH*HACK* "That's IT! The Pony's SHOES! Smell them!"


"PONY! Did you wear socks?"

" I did. But not yesterday."

"WASH YOUR FEET! These shoes are terrible! Don't wear them again!"

"I can get you a new pair of shoes tomorrow. You said you needed some."

"Yeah, but those are still wearable."

"NO THEY'RE NOT!" Farmer H was dangling them by the heel part. "I think you can wash them."

"I'm not touching them. Put them in the washer, and I'll turn it on. PONY! Tomorrow, you're going to wear one of your old pairs of shoes that you left here. We are going to get shoes. I'm not waiting to see if those can be saved."

So...we got The Pony some new shoes. He sniffed the others after soaking and washing and being left on the heater vents (!) to dry, and declared them 'OK.' I think not.

"They just smell like normal shoes now."

"No. Throw them away. I can still smell it."

In fact, I think I can STILL smell it, five days later.


fishducky said...

Pease porridge hot,
Pease porridge cold,
Pease porridge in the pot
Nine days old.
Probably smells like Pony's shoes!!

Hillbilly Mom said...

Heh, heh! If I'd known when he was a baby that such an odor would one day emanate from his feet...I might have considered throwing him out with the bath!

River said...

Don't stinky feet usually belong to teenage boys who then grow out of that stage? I had to hold my breath when doing the boy's washing for a few years, now his room is still a mess of clothes in various stages of clean, not-so-clean etc but I can breathe in there.

Hillbilly Mom said...

The Pony is 20, a year (almost two) out of his teens. I think the outgrowing thing works, as long as they don't GO WITHOUT SOCKS all day while wearing an old pair of shoes.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

How did you sleep with that smell? I bought some paint on clearance once. At Walmart and I convinced the manager to tint it for me (I worked in that store). Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until I opened the can at home. I swear it did not smell in the store, but upon opening, I gagged. I said to HeWho is sometimes doubtful about my bargains that I could not describe the odor. He said he could … he dubbed it "nasty butt crack". I took it back for a refund and used the words of HeWho when asked what the problem was with the paint.

Hillbilly Mom said...

It helps if you go to bed at 3:00 a.m., after riding five hours with a Pony driver. I was pretty much exhausted. But I DID notice that smell was stronger as I went up the 13 steps from the lair to the living room.

Don't you wonder how many of the workers at the return counter CRACKED open that can of paint, to check out the smell after your description?