Saturday was one of those days that you wake up and wish you could fast-forward through. We went from a football game to a group lunch to a birthday party to a group dinner. And in between all of that, there was no stopping at home to hang with the dogs. And I could see disaster up ahead, since the day before, cleaning up after our turn hosting playgroup, Lola inhaled a wedge of Port Salut.

Poop central in her kennel. (And yes, the girl is still in a kennel. Even coming up on 18-months old, she remains every inch a spastic pup. Clearly. As illustrated by the inhalation of said wedge of Port Salut.)

So I threw the pillow and blanket from her kennel in the washer and went about my business. This was about 9:30pm. And then I forgot about it. At some point during the night, I awoke to a disgusting smell. I went down to the laundry room, and sure enough, there was that stupid “UE” message. I don’t know, it’s an uneven load or something like that, which happens way too much with this washer. And I assumed the stench was puppy poop? And so I just turned off the washer and figured I would let my husband deal with it when we picked him up this morning.

And the smell just got worse and worse. And then I heard the sound of what I thought was water trying to fill the washing machine? And then I went to get my husband at the airport, with the girls. And when I came home, I could smell it in the garage. And I entered the house before my husband, and Nici mentioned the house smelled like gas, and did I turn on the heating system? And then my husband came in and was all, “what the hell? It’s a gas leak! How long has this been going on?”

Me: Um, since last night? I guess?

Husband: You guess? Do you not know what gas smells like?

Me: Um, yeah. Well, the kind at the gas station. And this doesn’t smell anyhting like that.

Husband: Yea, that’s why the gas company puts the smell of rotten eggs in the gas so that you know what you’re smelling.

Me: Uh, okay. First of all, I must’ve missed that rotten eggs memo from the gas company. And second of all, I have no freaking idea what rotten eggs smell like in the first place. And third of all, ARE YOU TELLING ME WE COULD HAVE ALL DIED LAST NIGHT?

Clearly, there are some things in this world that you are just supposed to innately know, and although I did not, I will do you all a little public service here and let you know that:

1) the gas company puts the smell of rotten eggs in the gas line so that you can smell the gas leak;

2) if you don’t know what rotten eggs smell like, they smell nothing like you think they would, but do smell pretty gross according to the gas company’s own personal olfactory experts;

3) never, ever be afraid to call 911 because you just that night met a local cop who said, “oh, you’re the housewife who called the Sheriff on the mating elk…” and so you think they will further make fun of you because you are now the housewife calling them because something in your house smells kind of funky…

…because as it turns out, you and your two precious daughters and your Austrian house guest were asleep in a pressure cooker just waiting to explode. That’s right, you’re worst nightmares were just so close to the cusp of becoming a reality. A horrifying reality.

For real, I used to be so smart. I have no earthly idea how this got by me. How I mistook the odor of gas filling up my home, which held my sleeping loved ones, for the sound of water filling up a washing machine that was off-balance. What the? Really?

Really. My name is Melissa and sometimes I am just really stupid.