The Last Guest
One Christmas Eve we had an open house. As one of the last couples was leaving, the guy said he needed to use the bathroom. I thought it odd because they only lived a five-minute drive away, but the guy had been drinking, so I figured his bladder was about to burst. Well, it wasn't his bladder that was about to burst.
He reemerged into the foyer, and in retrospect he did rush his wife out to the car with barely a goodbye. While I was standing there, reflecting that soon I was going to be able to crawl in bed to a well deserved sleep, there was this almost eerie silence followed by a whiff of Satan's vomit. Within seconds I was gasping for air. It smelled like a hyena pack had eaten a foul warthog carcass and gotten a bad case of the shits, if that is even possible. I did the only thing I could do and headed to the opposite side of the house, but soon that last bit of space was overwhelmed as well. My kids were retching and screaming we were going to die, and my wife had that "do something" look on her now green face.
I should have herded the tribe downstairs where we could have made an exit, but in my haste I had led them to an area where the only exit was a 25-foot fall out a window onto concrete. I considered sending my youngest out for a test fall, but the wife nixed that. I finally decided I needed to man up and go back into the belly of the beast and get some windows open. As I had done once before when my dog ate her own shit and barfed it up under the breakfast table, I doused a towel with some kind of orange oil cleaner and wrapped it around my head. I surely looked like a desert warrior about to go to battle with a mongol horde, although I would have rather faced the arrows. Short of it is, I got the windows open, and within 15 minutes the house was semi-habitable.
Soon I was lying down on the bed heading to slumber land. I'm not sure I was dreaming, but I swear that shortly later I heard my next door neighbor scream, "WHAT THE FUCK??"
Sorry, not my problem.