Kids, I need to take a shower. The lack of
full-time job has compromised my hygene. I've got to get back on a regular schedule. I admit this because there's no sense in walking around with wavy smell lines and clouds of dust (think:
Pig-Pen) radiating from my hair, underarms and lady parts. It's shameful. It's rude. It's soo not cute. Wearing the same outfit for three and a half days is borderline offensive. Seriously, someone needs to give me a citation.
I pretend like the greasiness from my hair is 'shine.' When I reach over to pick something up, the scent of stale deodorant wafts into my nostrils. I feel the wind breeze through my boyish-length leg hairs when I walk around the house in shorts. That's IF I get out of bed and out of my sweats before 3 p.m. I need an intervention. Where are my friends and loved ones sitting around me, tearfully choking on their words as they read heartfelt letters expressing concern for the cleanliness of my coochie? Where are
Ken, Jeff and Candy? Where is my gift?
It's okay. I can kick this habit on my own. I'll do better; I promise.
