I am firmly convinced there is a dead animal in one of the walls of our master bedroom. The smell is so distinct, I moved to the den for a spell, swore I'd never sleep in the smelly bedroom again, that the floor in front of the fire would do nicely, after all, this is the way tribal folk sleep in the far corners of the globe. Sleeping on the floor changed my perspective on the issue of smell. Chris had to assist me off the floor the next morning, and I had to wear a brace to hold my shoulders in place the remainder of the day. The straps run under the shoulders. I asked if I looked sexy, and Chris said I did resemble an FBI agent. The other bedroom is covered in hunting gear. This all reminds me of when my sister tracked down a smell in the attic, to a hunting jacket, and a dead quail in its pocket. Come to think of it, didn't Chris go on that same hunt? Living with a hunter in my midst... I could rewrite those vows. Instead of to have & to hold, they should be, to clean & to fold, from this day forward, in fragrance and in stench...