Woman on a Mission

My kitchen has had a smell.
In joint discussions our family decided it was more of a rotting fish smell.
On day one of "the smell" I lit a candle, something I rarely do. Must just need some freshening up.
Day two I cleaned out the fridge.
Day three I started dumping bleach down the drain. It is getting worse.
Day four I pull everything out from the cupboard under the sink and wipe down with lysol.
Day five check for leaks in sink, dig through fruit bowl, grind a whole lemon in the disposal. I start to suspect that maybe one of Jay's kids left a special present in a cupboard somewhere. (When all else fails, assign blame.)
Day six, my husband who always is griping at me that my nose is too sensitive begins to be bothered by the smell. We pour draino down the kitchen sinks. I can hardly stand to do dishes at my sink. I am picturing rotting fish clogging the drain somewhere down there.
Finally this evening after the draino clearly produced no results I am a woman on a mission. I MUST find the smell--and that is when it hits me. You know those little mini-drawers in front of your kitchen sink to hold things like a sponge or some such nonsense? Well I opened one and guess what I found? A cracked egg. I don't know why I hadn't thought of that before. Now I know you all wanted a picture but I'm afraid I wasn't fast enough thinking for that special sight. A completely rotting cracked egg. I thought rotting egg smelled like ROTTING EGG, but apparently it doesn't. It smells like rotting fish. How silly of me.
So it all comes full circle and of course the culprit is none other than John. He has cracked one on my driveway, in the garage and in the basement in his play kitchen sink all about a week ago, so maybe I'm mistaken, but I'm thinking there is beginning to be a connection here.

We are a family that has dealt with a lot of cracked eggs. As any of you will recall Rebecca would hide them in the most ingenious ways in order to smuggle them out of the kitchen and crack them ALL over the house. She even broke them in the speakers for the surround sound system. The obsession with them lasted at LEAST a year and we had our eggs under lock and key for what seemed like forever. We could never leave them on the counter top EVER and kind of had to keep a running tally of how many we had at any given time. She would hide them in her pockets, under her shirt, in baskets or toys, but her favorite was in lunch boxes. She just couldn't get over the fact that when you cracked them, something came out. Crack--yolk, crack, yolk, crack, yolk. It was a never-ending fascination. The interesting thing was that none of these eggs rotted, they just dried up and became like egg glue, so this was a new experience for us--something I didn't think was possible with all of our egg-cracking experience.
Now just try to tell me there isn't something wrong with my children.