Mystery Cake

Opening my car door on Thursday morning, I was greeted with the scent of what seemed to be buttercream icing. Artificial, with a chemically undertone, but buttercream icing nonetheless.

"My car smells like cake! Why the fuck does my car smell like cake? There is no cake in my car."

Aside from the disappointment of the lack of car-cake, I was stumped as to just what was causing the, admittedly, not unpleasant aroma. I wondered if I had some kind of crazy-ass leak and postulated that my car had a component that ran on pastry. I checked the ground underneath my car to see if there was a lovely puddle of icing underneath. Alas, there was not. I cracked the hood to see if there was a spray of icing on the underside of the hood. Again, no dice.

And the scent? It just wouldn't go away. All day Thursday, all day Friday, all day...wait, not on Saturday. Because my excellent brain finally made the connection to what that chemical undertone was.

"Solvent!" it screamed. And the, embarrassingly, it whispered, "You have a mini container of car touch-up paint in your glove box".

Indeed, there was. And, indeed, it had sprung a wee leak. Plastic-y car paint, you smell like cake, and, thankfully, stick to not much of anything but yourself and your container.

Still, the disappointment of not having mystery cake in my car? She is crushing.