After being gone for several hours, I came in through the back door of my house and immediately knew something was wrong. Something was stinking up the place and it was bad. I turned my nose on HIGH and walked from the kitchen to the living room. I couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but it reminded me of the time I flew back from New York and the girl sitting in the row in front of me decided it was the perfect opportunity to break out a boiled egg and eat it. It was like being trapped in a box of flatulence.
I stopped in my living room, and for some reason, I looked slightly up and to the right, and that's when I saw it. There, on the third shelf of the bookcase was a plastic container. And inside it were leftover deviled eggs that I'd made nearly a week ago.
So.
I'd found the source of the bad smell, but this only raised more questions. How? Why? What the heck?
I grabbed the container of deviled eggs and ran into the kitchen - holding them at arm's length, naturally. Fighting back vomit, I bagged them up and then bagged them up again. This was definitely cause for double bagging.
After throwing the bag in the outside garbage can, I came back into the house and paced the hallway asking myself this question: Who would leave a container of smelly eggs on the bookshelf?
Was someone (or someTHING) trying to send a message? And if so, what was it? Could it be: A. I like eggs. B. Let's have a scavenger hunt. C. You're not fooling anyone with that fake blonde hair and botox-y forehead, you pathetic, desperate woman.
I had my suspicions of whom or what might do something so diabolical as to leave a container of week-old deviled eggs on the bookshelf for me to find. And both of them had their own reasons for doing it.
First, Suspect No. 1: Murphy, the new kitten.
Murphy has been a pain in my backside since the day we rescued her. While I imagine it's tough coming from living on the streets to a more civilized environment where eating your own poo is not an option; I am not your scratching post, you little punk. And so yes, it's been challenging to say the least. It wouldn't surprise me at all if this were her way of settling the score.
Suspect No. 2: My dad's dog, Ginger.
My dad went out of town for a few weeks and left Ginger with me. And so far, she's not too keen on being here. She's practically on a hunger strike. Anyway, Ginger has plenty of reasons to play a nasty prank on me. Sorry, Dad, but your dog isn't as innocent as you'd have everyone believe.
I needed some help solving the case. I wanted to be sure I had all the facts before I accused someone or something of a crime he or she or it didn't commit.
So I did what any other person in my position would do. I hired Harley (my 10-year-old) and Ethan (my 7-year-old) to be my detectives. I needed an A-Team and knew these two were just the ones for the job. I called them downstairs and asked them to join me in the kitchen. We sat down at the table, where I began briefing them on the facts of the case. But before I could get too far into Section One: What We Know So Far, Harley raised her hand. "Yes, Harley, what is it?"
"I know who put the deviled eggs on the shelf."
Surprised and elated, I shouted, "You do?"
"Yes, ma"am."
"WELL?"
"It was you."
"ME?"
"Yes. Remember yesterday when Murphy climbed up the bookcase and got stuck, and Ethan and I yelled for you to help us get her down?"
"Yes."
"Well, you came in the living room holding that container of eggs, and you put it on the shelf while you climbed up to rescue the kitten. You must have left it there."
"Huh. I vaguely remember doing something like that."
"I guess I solved the case then, right?"
"I guess you did."
"Are you going to pay me?"
Long story short: There are five fewer dollars in my wallet. Case closed.
