I woke up this morning to a strong smell of gasoline in my bedroom.
At first I was wondering what my next door neighbors -- famous for their various projects -- were up to.
Then I wondered what Son the Younger and his friend who'd spent the night had gotten into.
I got dressed and hurried downstairs, where the smell was much worse. Son the Younger and his friend had vacated the premises, leaving his cell phone. Odd. Very odd. Almost unheard of, even.
I went into the garage as I was calling hubby. There I found the source of the smell -- a gas can was upended, and there was gasoline all over the floor of the garage. Yuck. Hubby said he'd been messing with the water softener and had probably knocked it over. Dork. I opened the garage door and positioned a fan so that it would evaporate as quickly as possible.
Now my entire house smells like a filling station. I don't know how Son the Older, whose room is over the garage, is sleeping through the smell. It's literally nauseating.