Not For the Easily Disgusted

So, last week, the husband says to me "What is that smell? In the kitchen?" I had no idea, figured it was a poopy diaper, and we took the garbage out.

Still the kitchen smelled.

We thought it might be the garbage disposal, so he put one of the cleaning pellet thingies down there.

Still the stink.

Around Friday I was wondering if maybe something was rotting in the fridge, but when I opened it, there was no smell in there.

Saturday morning E and I packed up to head to Ontario for the weekend. When we got there safely I called husband to let him know. I asked how the morning had been.

He figured out where the smell was coming from...oh god...I'm gagging again just thinking about it. See, after we left, he walked into the kitchen, and saw a maggot on our stove. Yes, you read right, a maggot.

Turns out? A bird had gotten into the exhaust fan above our stove. And it was rotting. And it had bred maggots.

And it had been there...all week at least...while we cooked dinners and went about our daily lives. I gagged so hard on the phone that I puked.

And even though it's been cleaned, thoroughly, I still avoid the stove at all costs. Even more fodder for my dislike of cooking.