Of Course You Know, This Means War

I came in from a salon appointment last night and found a package at my doorstep. I was on the phone, so I had the phone tucked into my shoulder, put the keys in the door, picked up my package, shooed the cat away from her accustomed "Maybe I want to investigate the hallway" dart towards the door, and shut the door behind me with my foot when I noticed it.

Maybe "noticed" is the wrong word.

Maybe "Was slapped in the face with awfulness" is the better description.

(You know where this is going, right?)

STENCH.

Pervasive, insidious stench.

Now, if you've been following this blog at all, you know a couple of things:

1. Sometimes, something in my apartment gets stinky and I have to find it.

2. I do not enjoy the stinkiness.

3. I have OCD.

It's list item #3 that really makes the stench situation intolerable. My house, you should know, is CLEAN.  Very clean. Also, I empty the trash daily (okay, sometimes multiple times daily) because I have no tolerance for ickyness or foul smells.

And yet.

Stenches. They sneak in. And it makes me crazy and then I have to tell you about it so someone can share in my sense of "aaaggghhh". I'm hoping you can relate, but I sometimes wonder -- is this just me? Am I the only one who occasionally has something in her house start to reek in a perplexing and mysterious fashion?

Anyway. As usual, the stench seemed centered in the kitchen. I took out the trash again. Stench remained. I checked everything in the fridge. Stenchless (and also, I need to go grocery shopping). I was tired.

Whatever, stench, I thought. I'm done for the day.

Which was a mistake, in retrospect because this morning, when I walked into the kitchen, the stench was a presence. Leaning against the counter and leering at me.

GROSSNESS.

Desperate, I cast my eyes around the kitchen when I saw the sponge laying by the sink, trying to look innocent. "I'm a sponge," it seemed to say, "and my function is for keeping things CLEAN! Surely I do not reek!"

I remembered a previous sponge-centered episode of find the stench, though, and I wasn't fooled. I grabbed a ziplock bag out of the cupboard and went in carefully. I picked up the sponge. I sniffed.

I nearly passed out.

I believe I may have uttered the following sound:

"OHMYGODBLEAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHEEEEEEWWWWWWWWURRRGGHHHH!"

I nipped the sponge into the ziplock bag and sealed it. I splashed clorox on the area where the sponge had been resting in all of its stenchitude. I considered boiling the fingers that had TOUCHED the sponge.

The end result of all of this, however, is simple: I am on to the backstabbing ways of the sponge. Oh sure, they make you THINK they're your sidekick in scrubbing, but all the while? They harbour resentment, plot against you, and just when you think you can trust them? Stench.

Not in MY kitchen, pal.

Anyone know of an acceptable scrubbing alternative?