Reeking Havoc

The warmest room in our house is the half bath on the first floor. The heat pours into this closet-sized space like nobody’s business — and even when the rest of the house is freezing, the tiny bathroom is delightful. Could I put a TV in there, maybe?

This has also become our go-to spot for drying gloves, hats, and soaked running shoes, so naturally when my son came home drenched from lacrosse practice, I neatly arranged his gear in front of the heating register.

The next morning I opened the door to  stench so horrid I nearly retched. For a second I though maybe one of the cats peed in there — or ALL of the cats —  but no, this terrible smell was wafting up from the lacrosse gear.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Under normal circumstances the stuff doesn’t smell great, but it’s acceptable; the application of heat unleashed a monster.

I’ve finally shaken that stink out of my head and learned a valuable lesson about drying athletic equipment: if you put wet, sweaty things in a hot little box don’t be surprised when you open the door.

4 thoughts on “Reeking Havoc

  1. Our HS and College LAX teams played meaner and faster as the season wore on, because we were simultaneously enraged by our stench and trying to outrun it. I always felt bad for people who rode the Yankee Trails and Brown’s buses after we were in them for road trips.

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