I like to dry my pants over the chairs in the dining room so they won't shrink. I do this all the time. No dryer for my pants. The other day, I went downstairs grabbed my pants for work and went about getting ready. Finished getting dressed, watched some Food Network, did my hair, did my make-up - off to work!
I'm in my car - it's small, very compact - all of a sudden I smell, what I think is the aftermath of stagnant fried up something in the house. I'm like crap. My sweater has been soaking up the smells from our stove. I can take it off later. I get to work, and I swear this smell gets worse. What the F! I'm smelling my sweater to find the source. No burned pan meat smell. Then I figure it out - it's my pants.
I called my lovely carnivore boyfriend, and said, "Did you cook something last night? In the house? My pants smell. "
Me: My pants smell like bacon. I'm getting sick from it.
Jimmy: Don't be mean.
Me: Sorry, but my pants smell like bacon, and I'm stuck in these pants for the rest of the night at work.
I grab lotion and spray.. and try to prevent my deskmate, Tim, from smelling the deep-fried aroma coming from my desk. It wasn't the good bacon-in-the-morning smell either. It was the maybe-we-should-have-cleaned-the-pan-before-making-this-last-batch, bacon.
I guess the fried meat smell comes with living with a boy who loves -- well fried meats. The price you pay for L-O-V-E.