The Mysterious Smell

Today when I went into Canaan's room, I noticed...a Smell. It wasn't an overtly terrible smell, it was one of those smells that makes you go "What is that? Am I  just imagining that?" Then, as you follow your nose (What is it that makes us do that, by the way? Why do we feel compelled to track disgusting scents to their source?) you find that no, you did NOT imagine it, and furthermore, it's getting more sickening as you investigate. I tracked the smell diligently. Not behind the dresser, or the bookshelf, or under the baseboard heater. Not in the stuffed animals. As I climbed over the bed, around the precariously balanced television, and behind the last box in the corner, I found it. A tomato. Not a recent tomato, either. This was most definitely an antique tomato. It smelled like a combination of vinegar, mold and rotten cheese, if someone had rubbed it all over their feet and then run the Boston Marathon. Thank heaven it was a small tomato. I dread the day he becomes strong enough to carry watermelons.