We went grocery shopping last week.
My trunk was still pretty full of boxes containing various Relief Society items passed down from president to president. When I say pretty full, I mean we could barely cram the bags of groceries in around everything. We got home, unloaded the food, and didn't think twice.
Two days later...
I got into my car to go to work and a rancid, pungent smell greeted me from the depths of my little Corolla. Being too busy to figure it out right then, I rolled the windows down and forgot about it during my day's work.
That evening I went to get back into my car and the 90 degree weather had exponentially multiplied the odor. I had to get to the bottom of it.
Shifting through the boxes in the back, in the very farthest reaches of my trunk, there it was. One lone grocery bag. My favorite navy blue shopping bag with the red and white birds. Birds symbolizing all the wildlife I save by using said reusable shopping bag.
Inside.......
Chicken.
Half-cooked, greenish tinted, rotten chicken.
I guess the color of it and the fact that I knew full well how long it had been in there wasn't enough proof that it was bad. What did I do?
I took a big whiff of it.
You know, just to make sure that's where the smell was coming from. Just in case something else in my car could be radiating such a hellish stench. Just in case it had somehow miraculously survived the two day ordeal in blazing heat and we could still eat it. That's normal, right?
Needless to say that chicken sacrificed its life in vain. My guilt at such a pointless death may drive me to vegetarianism.
In the meantime, it did at least drive me to clean out my trunk.
