Deodorant is Not Optional

I have long made it public knowledge that I possess (please note that due to my horrible spelling skills I almost wrote posses which I think might have some Freudian implications about how much I detest Williamsburgites) an extreme disdain for all things Williamsburg, especially the L train. It’s not that I haven’t at times enjoyed things about Williamsburg, such as the cuisine or the art, but still even for yours truly this is not enough to make me climb onto a train packed with those who aspire to be Euro-trash. Though, I did recently hear that APC has a surplus store in Williamsburg so…well, you know I do enjoy shopping.

My main issue with Williamsburg is that I have never felt “cool” enough to hang with its IT crowd. I like a person who looks put together, one who cleans under their finger nails and isn’t a fan of heroin chic. My body has never been capable of producing the gauntness necessary to be described as such and therefore I have developed a loathing for an appearance that says, “I subsist on drugs, booze and cigarettes.” I am not frightened of freshly laundered clothing. In fact I’ve been known to squeal in delight when I grab a towel at the gym that is not only fluffy but still warm from the dryer. But mostly I have a great love of deodorant. An appreciation of deodorant really. I appreciate it in the same way I do toothpaste, or chewing gum, or the tiny mirror I carry in my purse to keep me from walking around with things stuck between my teeth.

Now, the residents of Williamsburg are not huge fans of deodorant. Somehow they have gotten the impression that it is an unnecessary toiletry like décolletage creams. I am here to tell you it is not!

This morning, climbing onto the always packed L train (seriously, why is this train always packed?), I stood next to a girl who was in her mid-twenties, cute hair, nice outfit, and the worst BO ever. Seriously, I thought I was going to pass out. Of course the train was crowded leaving me with nowhere to escape to. I was forced to endure the entire train ride with her stench wafting over me sending extreme feelings of repulsion through my veins. I couldn’t help but wonder how she couldn’t smell herself (and let me tell you people, when you can smell yourself, you’ve got serious problems). It was horrible. Then I started to think, what kind of friends does she have? Well, obviously other stinky people, because that’s the only way they could handle it. I mean, if The Princess was smelling up the place, I’d let her know. And you better believe nothing would bring her more joy than to say, HRH, “you can not raise your hand, because you are not Sure.” Then I started thinking, what must that be like, stinky girl and her friends when they get together, stinking up the whole place. Horrid. Then I started feeling bad for the people who do her laundry. Imagine what they must feel like when she comes in, with her bag of clothes. Repulsed? I know I would be.

I am happy to report I did make it to 14th St. without passing out. Though I have no idea how her coworkers have faired.

Please stay tuned for a blog entitled, “The Joys of Antiperspirant.”