At first I thought that I, perhaps, had forgotten to put on deodorant for the past week. Then I heard the man move behind me, walk around from hanging up his coat, and as he displaced more and more air molecules the stench got stronger and stronger. A consolation prize, to know that I am not the smelly party, but still to have a nose…
Seriously. And in the same vein - I’m not going to make a new rules of the metro post for this, but it deserves saying:
Dear Mr. Gross Old Man,
You know who you are. You, and all of your gross old man friends, need to please and thank you stop farting in rush hour metro traffic. It is very gross. And noxious. And I know that it’s not just me who’s bothered by it because there’s invariably an older woman standing near me who crinkles her nose and, I’m always scared, thinks that it was me who tooted.
(Seriously, though. I like to think that I’m not obviously a crazy person; one at least needs to wait until I’ve opened my mouth to know for certainty. Between me and the gross old man, you’re really going to try to blame that on me, Ms. Wearing-Three-Bottles-Of-Mascara-In-One-Day Lady?)
PS – You’re not special enough to warrant the signature-graphic. So. *tongue sticking out*
1 month ago