A few weeks later, my coworkers and I were planning a party after a big project wrapped up. I volunteered to host, figured it would be a nice way to show my boss, David, that I was the kind of person who has things together.
David is the kind of boss who doesn't mince words. Direct. Professional. Respected by everyone in the office. Not unkind, but you always know where you stand with him.
He was the first to arrive. I opened the door, shook his hand, and watched him step inside.
But just for a second, something crossed his face. His eyes narrowed slightly and I saw him take a short, controlled breath through his mouth. He recovered immediately, smiled, and said the house looked great.
But I couldn't help but ask,
"... Is something wrong?"
He stepped further, paused in the entryway, and looked at me with a measured expression.
"Daphne, do you have cats? There's a bit of a funky smell in here."
He wasn't mean about it. Just matter-of-fact.
Instantly, I could feel the heat shoot straight up my neck and into my face.
"Yeah, so sorry about that! We just got two cats, I'll take care of it!"
"It's a nice afternoon, let's all set up in the back patio instead," I suggested.
My boss. The person who decides my performance reviews, my raises, my entire future at the company. He walked into my home and the first thing he noticed was how gross it smelled.
If David said it out loud within ten seconds of walking in, then I knew there was a very real chance every single person who'd ever walked through my front door could smell it too.
He ended up leaving early and thanked me for hosting. Said everything was wonderful.
But after that night, I couldn't shake the feeling of insecurity.
Every playdate parent. Every book club member. Every friend. Every family visit. All of them got hit with the same thing the second they stepped inside. They were all just too polite to say it the way David did.
The whole time I'd been brushing it off, it had been quietly humiliating me and my family.