I give her props for throwing out her molding ground beef that had been in the fridge for weeks until yesterday, and after for taking out the garbage bag that she plopped it into.
She was very cleaver in this endeavor. She had one of her friends from class (who didn't know about her past fails) over, and told said girl that the beef must have belonged to Krista. Since
Most everyone else was gone out to the library when the shenanigans went down. Jillian, however, was in her room, studying while listening to titanic music when the girls started screaming and dry-heaving. What a way to be interrupted.
Anyways, in their attempt to void the new resident of our house, they must have disturbed it and made it exhale a bunch of its spores into the surrounding area of the kitchen/living room as the monster wasn't about to leave gracefully. However, the grace of it's departure may or may not have been reflected in the grace of the one disposing it. The entire house smelt like... like... well, old-beef, people-fart, moldy-socks, and fish-sticks seems to describe the stench. Clearly she was trying to murder us by exposing us to her moldy beef spores
Jillian was the one from whom I heard of this disaster-ness. Apparently the smell drifted into her room off the kitchen. Poor girl.
Nothing beats the disposal of the pasta sauce when Miss Amelia put her pasta sauce back in the cupboard at the beginning of the year. Reason: "Nope, this is what my family does." After, the reason she didn't know you actually put it in the fridge: "My family uses like 5 bottles in one night so we never have to store it". GOLD STAR.
One day, a long time from now, I will show them this blog which revolves around them. Therefore, I cannot go into too much heat.
But the point of story. She did a half-ass job because I found mold on the floor by the fridge. I believe there is also residual redness from an unexplained source along the floor where the fridge door opens. I am deathly terrified of their fridge and the monsters that come out of it.
Real point of story: I can't be pleased, can I.
Darn good and sure of it,