Do You Smell That?

My car stinks.

I don't know why. I've looked for all the usual suspects, and I'm familiar with them all, because I'm sort of a minor local celebrity for my ability to trash a car in less time than it takes to fill one with gas. I've looked for old lunches, forgotten leftovers from family gatherings, neglected pumpkins in the trunk, and wet moldy clothes rotting in the backseat. I've searched for dead animals (small and large) and dead bodies (small and large). I've done everything but go out to my driveway with a screwdriver and a lug wrench and take the whole damned thing apart. I can find nothing--mind you, nothing--that could even possibly begin to explain the foul and mysterious odor.

I can't even properly identify the stench. It's sort of like mildew, and sort of like feet. Sort of like mildewy feet. With a touch of garlic breath. And the slightest hint of urine. Not human urine, more that of some woodland creature. Like that.

I don't even really know where it's coming from. I get in my car, and as my brain is starting to think something is not-so-fresh, I turn the key and get a full-on assault from the dashboard vents. If I run the air conditioning for a few hours, the immediate blast subsides, but the foul and mysterious odor is still there, lingering, clinging to the upholstery and whoever is unlucky enough to be along for the ride.

It's driving me crazy.

For whatever reason, my husband gets to drive The Good Car. Or, as I refer to it, The Family Car. (He of course calls it "My Car." I checked the title. It's not.) The Good Car does not smell like feet or mildewy feet or anything stinky or unpleasant. The Good Car doesn't really smell like anything. And that's a good thing.

"I think I'll take The Good Car tomorrow," I have casually attempted on multiple occasions.

"No way. Your car fucking stinks," he has always replied.

I'm aware. I just don't know how to correct the problem if I don't know what causes it.

Any suggestions?