Fred Aiken Writing

It started as an accident. I forgot to shower one day. Then another. I kept forgetting, or at least that’s what I tell myself. That’s what I tell friends and family when they tell me they are concerned that I haven’t bathed in…oh, I dunno, I guess going on 3 years.

That’s not a record, by the way. I think there’s actually a guy that holds the Guinness record for the longest time someone has gone without showering. Something like 60 years, if I’m not mistaken. I don’t think I have that sort of discipline. At some point, I’m fairly certain I will cave.

But it doesn’t matter. Not really. I’m sure you’re just curious as to why and whatnot.

It’s simple really; I went over to a friend’s place one day and was riding up the elevator to get to his floor and some small twentysomething with tattoos all over her face and neck (which isn’t a super important description about her, but it was true and so why leave it out, right?) commented on the smell. She said it smelled like sulfuric eggs and sweaty garbage soup. Mind you, I had forgotten to shower for some 4 days straight at that point, so I didn’t think the smell was all that bad. Either way, she didn’t realize the smell emanated from me, but she acknowledged something about my existence that would have otherwise gone by without so much as two words shared between us. Not only did I feel acknowledged, but a small part of me, an irrational part of me, felt loved.

I realized from that moment forward that no one notices people when they’ve showered and cleaned themselves. It’s expected of everyone. We live in a hygienic society. To not bathe is a form of rebellion. I guess what I’m trying to get at is: Viva la puante.