They Don't Call Me Cheese for Nothin'

I'm sitting on my couch, furiously knitting away at a hat that I have been obsessing about for weeks. It's after midnite, and I've just gotten home after a long day of work and a not so long night of booze n yarn {by the way people, knitting and booze do NOT mix. Another blog for another time. I know I know, you're counting the minutes...}

When I got home, I pulled off my boots and many layers of tights, sweaters, etc. Threw on a tshirt and little else and flopped down on my couch, as previously mentioned, to knit til I can't see straight.

I notice a very unsavory smell wafting up from my lap. Jesus Christ, I need to shower.

I guess all that knitting and fretting over the knitting, plus the layers of clothing that have been worn since 7am are taking their toll on my sweat glands. By God do I smell like sour milk.

I found it very curious, however, as I have never quite smelt like that before. I've smelt myself sans shower, post sex, post workout, post swimming in the Hudson even, and never in my life have I given off the odor of sour milk. Damn, I'm getting nasty in my old age I guess...

I noticed a small stain on the ultrasuede sofa, it had just appeared out of nowhere. I wiped it up with one of the many blankets that are strewn about the couch {cuz I'm classy like that} and realized it had a very familiar stench.

Sour milk.

The culprit, it seemed, was a tupperware bowl I brought home from work and stuffed into a backpack, which also happened to contain my knitting. The bowl still had droplets of milk from my cereal several days prior, and it was becoming rancid and leaking.

Thank the fucking Lord! I may be Old Cheese, but damn if I want to smell like it!