But I did NOT, anytime, anywhere, anyhow, sign up for something dead under the sink. It COULD be dead under the board that is the flooring for under-the-sink but I have NO INTENTIONS of finding out.
There are flies. They are small and dumb, which is good, except that by sheer number they are winning this fight. I cannot find where they're coming in, although I've sprayed around all the doors and windows and UNDER THE SINK and...they keep coming.
So between the smell and the flies, I've used about $6 of cider, mixed with another small investment in cinnamon sticks and whole allspice, simmering on the stove. Great...now The Institution smells like DEAD APPLES. And it BUZZES.
So I'm out of here. There is a lovely Mennonite trading post about 30 miles north of here, and last year they had awesome mums and fall offerings and they always have cheese...lots of cheese. Cheeses to make your heart sing. So J Friend and I are off to check out the foliage and the trading post, and then find a floor cleaner at a retail institution somewhere. About 3:30, I will text The Nice Kid and tell her, "When you get home? Pull out all that stuff under the kitchen sink and see if we need to do something about that rotted floor."
Moms are sneaky like that.