Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Smelly and creepy? Comfort is not a domino effecting hygiene. I was at the laundromat tonight.
Tonight? Smelly man in the laundromat. My gender may have more flaws than a safety glass storefront window after a Chevette rams in (I cannot explain why Chevette came to mine) but, with notable and distasteful exception, we wash.
And don't be saying, but Sarah, it was a laundromat as if that were an excuse for layered on clinging noxiousness. We all have various oddly exotic outfits. I love mine and wear them to the laundromat--wrinkled mismatches I wish we could wear on formal occassions; in brief, the laundromat is not Fashion Week.
But comfort is not a domino effecting hygiene. Be ever slovenly of garb. Of body be even relatively smell-free. This laundromat guy stank. I guaranty it wasn't a one-off. He was a type. I've worked with them.
They always have modulated voices in freakish contrast to their appearance and odor. Often their jeans droop to show hairy butt crack. Their hair is vicious, a wild animal, hating.
They are rank. They are rank and in the laundromat. I issue a fatwah on smelly men (and the occasional woman). Their odor near--near my fluffed variables? Euuuuuu and feh.