Two days in a row this past weekend, Mabel got to roast marshmallows over a fire pit in a friend’s back yard. Both times, she must have spent significant time in the direct path of the smoke. I had her hang her two sets of clothes on our back deck railing to air out, and last night when I checked, both shirts and both pairs of pants still smelled smoky.
When the thunder and deluge started in the middle of the night, I was awake to listen to it (nursing Hazel) but didn’t even think about Mabel’s clothes on the deck. This morning they were as soppingly saturated as it is possible for clothing to be.
And they still smelled like smoke.