I was out one evening when my train was held at a station. Someone ahead of us “had taken ill” and the entire line shut down until they could be attended to.
Meanwhile, I was shoved next to two very… um, lively girls sharing an iPod. They were singing out loud and dancing with arms in the air…
The seemingly more outspoken of the two whined, “Com’on now. What’s WRONG with you people!! Stop being so DULL. No one is dancing…” (Uh, no one else can hear the music…)
Some people smiled indulgently or snickered, but I was in full on disdain. It’s wasn’t their enthusiasm that I found so repulsive. It was their overpowering B.O.!!
A funk, by the way, that was only heightened as they insisted on removing layers in some crazy, quazi-pole dance in a very crowded train…
Call Americans fussy or obsessive about bathing, but B.O. was simply not something I regularly encountered except for the two times I’ve lived abroad- Italy and, now the UK.
I can stand the smell of sweat from a particularly warm day (which it wasn’t) or a good work out. I will even admit to having missed a shower or two on occasion, but for these girls seemed to be chronic offenders.
I thought I was about to take ill right then and there. Fortunately, I only had one more stop to go…
A few days later, I was pushing Avery in his stroller when I detected more foulness the air. I walked faster to hurry home, but there was no escaping it. It lingered all around me.
I was mentally preparing a rant about how bad London stinks when I reached into our diaper bag and found the source– a sippy cup with milk in it… buried and forgotten from FOUR days ago.
Yeah, the foulness stinking up the streets of London was coming from ME!
That’ll teach me for being so smug.