Smelling like sh*t

Damn you. Damn all of you ...

Damn you. Damn all of you …

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!

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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.

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