Some say I am a smelly person…






the greasy hamburgers I hand out to ravenous customers at my small town’s only restaurant,






my transgendered sister’s dress when she gets into my mother’s perfume cabinet,




the cozy smell of detergent on my favorite Christmas sweater that I wear year-round,




my car’s musky interior after I’ve left the window down in a rainstorm,






the lingering cloud of Lysol that follows me after I give in to a scoop of ice-cream despite




my lactose intolerance,




and even the large pizza stains on far too many of my beloved English rough drafts



… but I simply adore the smell of life.

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