Spring has got to be my all time favorite time of the year. After being stuck inside for the better part of five months looking out the windows at the dead snow covered earth, I could just burst out of my skin. Not unlike the bulbs, leaves, and spring flowers bursting out of the earth. I love green. Green trees, green grass, green money which is what I’m spending on infant sized plants to fill the planters. But I don’t care, I need to punctuate my little corner of the world with bright colors laying on a bed of green. Maybe feeling the dirt under my fingernails will pull me out of my funk. I’ve already started collecting New Guinea Impatiens, Million Bells, and Vinca Vines. Honey has been collecting tomato, pepper, and herb plants. Now the only thing left to do to keep them alive is wait for the weather to be warm enough at night, and buy some dirt. Like any good parent, Honey and I want to feed our new additions properly.

I am sent on a quest. On the cool rainy days this week Honey has loaded the 50 pounds of aluminum cans into my 17 year old station wagon. I am to take them to the recycler who pays cash for aluminum cans. They are located, conveniently, next to where I work. They are also, conveniently, the beer distributor. Might as well conserve gas and get all the chores done in one quick trip. I stop at the garden center section after my shift and pick up some Miracle Grow Organic Soil. Two 50 pounds bags. One of the guys is nice enough to load it into my car. Then up the hill to turn in the cans and pick up some beer. I don’t know about anyplace else on the planet but the beer distributor is paying seventy cents per pound on the aluminum cans. I walk out with $34.00. Enough for all the beer and two bags of organic soil. I head home where I’m to leave everything in the car in the garage for Honey to unload later.

Somewhere in between watching the news and reading the newspaper, I drop off into sleepy land. I wake up a few hours later to The Teen poking me on the shoulder. He’s hungry. I tell him we’ll go out and pick something up when his dad gets home. He reminds me that his dad isn’t going to be home till late because he had an out of town meeting.

Crap. Now I have to be the responsible adult and shake the cob webs out of my brain so I can drive to the Sheetz and pick up some grub for this poor starving child. It’s not so bad. I can pick up some of those evil French fries I love. I won’t touch a fry from any other restaurant, so they have to do something really bad to these things to make them so good. Maybe they fry them in beef fat, or bacon grease? Hmmm, I’m hungry. I grab my purse, fling open the back door, run down the walk, unlock the side door to the garage, hit the button on the opener, open the car door, AND STAGGER BACKWARD out of the garage alternately gagging and gasping. OH MY GOD! The STENCH!

I’m not naive enough to be fooled into thinking that organic dirt is something other than what it is, which is doo doo, poop, shit. Whatever you want to call it. I was thinking that the 4 mil plastic it was wrapped in was there to: A.) keep all 50 lbs. together, and B.) hold in the smell.

I sat on the pavement outside the garage formulating a plan. I was hungry, dammit. I would hold my breath and go roll down the windows. Run back outside, grab another breath of air, run in and pull the car out of the garage. Then I could drive to Sheetz with my head outside the window. There. It’s a plan. Except when I got down to Sheetz I had to roll up the windows and lock the door. I couldn’t leave the beer and poo out in plain view tempting every thief who happened to be walking by. Really, how bad could the smell get sitting out in the sun with the windows closed?

There wasn’t a line inside to order food. I quickly ordered a couple of dogs, a pretzel sandwich, a sub, and two boatloads of those evil French fries. Then it was back out to the stink mobile. I was prepared. I knew the routine. Stand back, open door, roll down windows. Too bad the people parked next to me didn’t know the routine. I opened the door and started to roll down the windows then noticed the woman’s face in the car next to mine take on a look of horror. She moved closer to the driver of their car and they both exchanged a look. Then both their heads turned to hurl silent accusations my way. "Did you just fart? Is that smell coming from you?" Their looks of disgust almost made me mumble "excuse me" as I climbed into my car, but I wasn’t going to waste precious air talking when I was in a hurry to get on the road so the wind would clear out the smell.

Back home I left the windows of the car open thinking the smell wouldn’t be so bad in a two car garage. The Teen and I enjoyed our fries and shortly after I went to bed. Around 11pm Honey woke me up to tell me about having to stagger out of the garage to get some air before he was able to unload the beer and poo from my car. "I know. Sorry Honey. Did you fart or is that smell embedded in your clothes?"