After returning from a hot, sweaty, outdoor session of archery in the midday sun in the yard, I caught a whiff of the foulest odors as I set myself to the task of washing my hands in the kitchen sink. It began coincidentally as soon as I lifted my arms. While I could not put my finger on the exact smell, the acrid aroma resembled something of a mixture of several ex-boyfriends' feet, soaked in something moist and not altogether kosher.
At this point, I began to despair. "Holy shit!" I thought, "How am I ever going to be attactive at renfaires now if I smell like *this* after a couple of hours of shooting?!"
It was then that I was informed by Jen that they had been eating [old] bleu cheese while I was out, and in fact, both the sink, the nearby countertop, and frankly, the entire kitchen at that point had acquired its distinct putrid odor.
Needless to say, that was a relief, but as an added precaution, I'll now make double-sure to pack an extra stick of deodorant for those times when I'm attempting to impress an attractive man with my targeting prowess. No use risking smelling like a used hooker.
Further bulletins as events warrant.
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