I hang out with chickens a lot. They have a smell. It's a farmy kind of smell and I actually rather like it...or at least I don't find it offensive. We have dogs. We love 'em, but they definitely get their funk on. I hug them anyway, of course.
But the smell of fifty-ish kids using heavy weight equipment in an un-air conditioned environment that likely doesn't get much cleaning, in very tight quarters, well, I turned around and waited by my car.
And I must've looked pale or something...I was definitely seeing spots.
Little guy: "That smell hit ya like a haymaker, eh, mom?"
Me: "If that means I got hit in the face by something really big and hard, yes."
And then we drove home, me sweaty after a long walk on the trail and my little guy who admitted that he'd not had a shower in two days.
Dave had no idea of the haymaker that was barrelling his way!
P.S. I still haven't added a layer to the larger piece I'm working on. Perhaps tomorrow.
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