I made a pledge a few days ago to try and not curse on this site. So, eh, this will be a challenge …
For the past two or three hours, I felt like I smelled of shit. Eh, sh*t. The scene just seemed to be there. Not horribly strong, but lingering. Like putting a dollop of vanilla extract in a bowl of pudding. The smell lingered and lingered in lingered, to the point where I went to the coffee shop bathroom to check myself over.
Nothing.
Returned to my table. Smell still there. Gnawing at me. Am I just being weird? Is something off? Looked at my shorts for the 53rd time—nothing. Back of my shirt—nothing. Armpits—nothing. Finally, flipped up my left sandal—nothing. Then, my right.
Egad!
On the bright side, my body doesn’t reek of poop. On the BIG down side, the bottom of my sandal—n-a-s-t-y. I let out an unintentional, “F*ck!” and returned to the coffee shop bathroom. Took off the shoe, so I’m standing one foot barefoot on a gross floor. Drought be damned, I run the show under hot water. No dice. I unravel some toilet paper and try wiping it off. No dice. In my hand I have the bathroom key. It’s silver and shiny and well, um … ah … hmm … I use it as a tool. One by one, I dig out the grooves—wet poop sludge dropping into the sink, on my hand, on the key. It takes a solid five minutes, but finally my sandal appears mostly clean.
I wash off the key in hot water, step out of the bathroom, hand back the key.
“Thanks,” I tell the barista.
She has no idea.
