PEE-YEW!

Each time the stench wafted up my nose in an intermittent wave, I furtively sniffed around me. It had to be me. I was the only one sitting on that end of the couch. Once, twice . . . my nose quickly scanned each armpit as I reached up into a yawn or pretended to pull my hair back.    

My alarm didn’t go off, so arriving at my cousin’s house late for brunch was a given. There was no time to shower, pick out clothes, or put makeup on. I hurriedly scrubbed a toothbrush around in my mouth, put clothes on from the night before, and combed my hair before speeding two towns away.  

I breathlessly sashayed into the house and hugged aunts and cousins I hadn’t seen in a good while. Everyone had already served themselves and was sitting around the open dining room stuffing their faces and reminiscing. I piled my plate with fruit, rolls, and an amazing breakfast casserole made of eggs, cheese, and ham and found an empty spot on the end of a couch. It didn’t take long to catch up with stories and realize something around me Did. Not. Smell. Good. It was repulsive.

“Do you remember the one about my mom (Ruby) smarting off to Grandma? Grandma didn’t care for what she said and threw a fork at her!” Laughter rippled through the room.

“Yeah, because she was saying my mom (Ruth) was the one who really did whatever it was Ruby got in trouble for, and sassing that Ruth never got into trouble for anything.”

“When Grandma threw that fork, it barely missed her head and stuck in the wall!”

The smell grew more revolting with every story. I really wanted to concentrate on the retellings, but every few minutes I was focused on from where it was originating.  I slyly sniffed the couch cushion then lifted the neck of my shirt to my schnoz, then . . .  
It became story, story, sniff . . .      . . . story, story, sniff . . .

My sister nonchalantly whiffed the air around me when I asked her to lend her olfactory organ’s assistance. She came up with nothing. Claimed she didn’t even catch a hint of what I was adamantly whispering in her ear. I figured if I was inhaling such a rank odor on myself, everyone in the room was privy to it. I was sure the neighbors knew, too.

When the brunch broke up, I was hesitant to hug anyone. I couldn’t wait to get home and shower. As I removed layers of clothing, I found a huge chunk of onion clinging to the inside of my bra. The culprit was an onion. An onion that was the magic ingredient that pulled that yummy egg, ham, and cheese casserole together. At least it wasn’t body odor. At least it wasn’t a disgusting couch pillow. At least I hadn’t arrived smelling putrid, and I had another story for the next family brunch.