Kind of like the pet rock, except even more annoying.  My daughter loves to collect rocks that she calls her “pets” and then hands them to me to keep in my pockets.  By the end of the day, I have pockets full of rocks.  Yes, that’s a rock in my pocket and I’m not that happy to see you.  Her rock fetish is cute.  It’s not a pet peeve of mine.

My list of pet peeves may be exhaustive like her rock collection.  Hair on the soap, toilet paper not placed on the holder, dishes not put in the dishwasher, one bite of ice cream left in the container, when my husband has clothes sticking out of the drawers so you can’t shut them all the way, unmatched hangers in the closet (have you seen Mommy Dearest?), piles, I hate piles and clutter -unless it’s my clutter -oh and bad smells.

Umm…as I reread this it occurs to me that the list above pretty much has everything to do with my darling husband, love ya babe, but you are really freaking annoying to me.  Now back to the bad smells….

I’m forever asking, what’s that smell?  I seem to be the only one in my little family that can smell shit, farts, rotten food, mold, slime, dirty dishes, garbage that needs to be taken out, toilets that need to be cleaned, bad breath, body odor, dirty feet, cat litter that needs to be changed, dog poo on the bottom of someone’s shoe, etc.

After 40 years on this planet, I have discovered my super power.  My sense of smell (and 80’s hairband trivia).  And it’s pretty worthless.  In fact, if I had to give up one of my senses it would be the sense of smell, rendering me powerless (I am aware that giving up smell will likely force me to give up taste, too).  My sense of smell is actually a bit of a burden.  So what if I smelled that fart a mile away, what’s the use in it really?

Did you fart?  Yes.  OK…just making sure.

What’s that smell?  I don’t smell anything.  It’s the garbage.  It smells terrible.  Dear God, what’s in there?  Dunno (shrugs shoulders and walks off)

Something smells bad.  What’s it smell like?  Like wet dog that rolled around on a rotting fish.  I don’t smell anything.  Did you brush your teeth this morning?  No, I forgot.

Which brings me to my last pet peeve.  When you smell something bad and no one else is bothered by it, you get to be the one to find and remove that smell.  I take out the garbage, turn on the dishwasher, wash the dirty clothes, change the cat litter.  I’m the one that hounds my children to take baths to wash their pits, feet, and brush their teeth.  I am the purveyor of deputrification (apparently that’s not a word per Google).  I am the fanatic in finding the feculent.  I will obliterate the odiferous.  I repudiate the repugnant.  I will fastidiously defeat the fetid.  I could do this all day.  And I do.  All day.

And it’s a thankless job.