My car is making me smell. I explained this to Elvis, my “personal service representative,” at the dealership this morning.
He had the nerve to ask, “Intermittently?” and then write it down on the sheet. “Customer reports that 2000 Accord produces body odor.”
And no, not intermittently. All week long. All week long, I have smelled like a zoo animal, and I don’t care if Secret is strong enough for a man, it is not strong enough for a zoo animal.
It’s approximately 7,000 degrees this weekend in Southern California, and my car’s air conditioning chose this week to die. This week when I couldn’t take it in until the weekend. This week when I had places to be and people to see. This week when it sat baking in the sun, waiting to wrap its stifling arms around me and squeeze the putrid sweat from my every pore.
I started sitting farther away from people. I carried a little perfume spritzer in my briefcase. But let me say, when you have begun to bear an olfactory resemblance to an aging water buffalo, vanilla musk is not going to help you out. It’s just not.
Let’s hope Elvis can do something about this. My friendships might depend on it.