I got in my car yesterday and the first thing I thought was “damn, why does my car smell like crotch.” It is Arizona in the summer time, so not only does it smell like crotch, but it smells like crotch baking in the supernova heat. A little background: my car is not dirty. It is only five years old. I can be a messy person but I am not a dirty person. The difference? Messy means clean clothes might sit on the couch a few days. Dirty means Hubband has 96 empty Coke Zero cans in his office, 12 plates with sauces and food particles irrevocably glued on, 7 random-ass eating utensils, and a partridge in a fucking pear tree.
The only one that ever messes up my car is darling Hubband simply because he forgets items exist the second he places them in the car (the only exception is our daughter). Garnett is also very clean and doesn’t like being untidy or smelly and we have cleaned up anytime she has made a mess with food and washed cat seat cover. So WTF car? To be completely honest it smells like 90% crotch and about 10% SmartFood White Cheddar Popcorn (I, nor any one else, has had any in the car).
This would be waaaaaaaay less random and weird if it weren’t an independently verified smell. I switched cars with Hubband yesterday and as soon as he got in the car, he looks over and says through the respective open car windows: “Why does your car smell like crotch?” I nearly died laughing. I had not said a word about Crotch Car because I had forgotten to tell him during the appointment. I didn’t remember to ask him to locate the smell until he reminded me. He spent five minutes climbing around in my car and in the trunk sniffing and he could not locate the odor. He refused to drive until it was dealt with. Unfortunately for him, his bloodhound tracking skills suck ass and he couldn’t find the source. Ergo, Hubband went home in Crotch Car.