Yesterday night, everywhere I decided to settle down in our apartment, I kept smelling canned tuna. It was everywhere and in every corner, and if you live in the apartment acros the street, chances are you probably caught me with my face planted solidly on our dining table and in our couch, sniffing away like an adventure-deprived bloodhound.
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm pregnant and that my hormones are messing up my olfactory system, or if you're rude, you're gonna suggest it might be my vagina. But I can assure you that neither is the case. Rather, I suspect it to be my bright red, nail polish. That or my lap top. Which sucks, considering both go with me everywhere.