Mr. Stinky

I found myself sitting at the corner bar on Sunday night not wanting to move around too much. You see, I had been cleaning and moving stuff around on Sunday in a general effort to make the house presentable. It’s not like I was planning a party or anything, but I’m really not much of a clean freak, quite the opposite really. The house needed it, especially after the new furniture arrived on Saturday and was sitting there in my living room looking all new and pretty. So let’s just say I had a semi-active weekend.

There I sat Sunday night. I knew I probably didn’t smell too good after completing the ritual which has come to be known as “No Shower Sundays.” But this weekend, man, I’m ashamed to admit, but No Shower Sunday expanded to No Shower Weekend. After waking up early Saturday morning and moving stuff around to make room for the new furniture I went straight to the bar for some food. Saturday evening included a trip to Walmart, Target, another bar, the casino, and my favorite diner for breakfast. Sunday was the cleaning. All this went on while I was wearing the same shorts, shirt, socks and underwear that I had on Friday morning at 8:00 am. I even slept in said articles of clothing so they never even came out of contact with my body. Oh, and I’m sure the Renter will tell you, I had some bad ass gas that added to the funk that trailed behind me when I walked. I think my socks could have walked on their own.

There I sat, Sunday night, and two chairs over was some really friendly chick with some really inviting looking boobies slightly spilling out of her low-cut top who was chatting it up with the bartender and all I could think about was if my cloud of odor had drifted as far over as where she was sitting or, even worse, if I started talking to her if she’d move over closer to me, and hence, closer to gagging on my lap.

I sat still and tried to not say much.

Yeah, ladies, I'm surprisingly single and available.