I ordered from my beloved Yummy.com yesterday. Groceries, snacks, dishwasher detergent and made-to-order deli sandwiches. All delivered in 30 minutes. Perfect. This is convenience that rivals many New York outfits.
The only drawback to Yummy is its delivery staff. They make me feel ugly and inadequate. Each guy is handsomer than the next. It's like the WB opened its gates and sent forth its attractive actor army to work as sandwich delivery guys. Hey, it's a side-effect to living in Hollywood: the service industry is overwhelmingly dominated by The World's Prettiest (and often Dumbest) actors.
I hear the car door slam out front and my mouth instantly waters in anticipation of rare roast beef smeared with horseradish on pretzel bread. Mmmm… pretzel bread.
I tear myself away from Battlefront Online and hop up to answer the door.
I see him walking toward my apartment and my heart sinks into my growling stomach. The dude looks like a young Pierce Brosnan with a wavy pony tail. Six feet something, chiseled features, dressed in black. If I were gay, I'd probably have heard violins or something. Instead I just heard my Inner Man say, “Good thing there are no chicks around to see this dude.”
I greet him at my door. He smiles and says, “Good ahftah noon sir.”
AN ENGLISH ACCENT?
My James Bond delivery boy is polite, articulate and intelligent. (Inside I'm furious with jealousy. I was hoping for another dummy.) Then, as I'm signing my credit card receipt it hits me: B.O.
This dude STINKS.
I'm being surrounded by it now. My head is swimming. I can't believe the odor of this guy. Doesn't he notice it? Hasn't anyone told him about it? I'm holding my breath but it seems to permeate my skin. As if someone doused me with a bucket of hot sweat: I'm saturated; drenched.
When he turns to walk away, he stirs up an almost-visible swirling mist of man-stench.
Dizzy. I shut the door.
But my feelings of triumph quickly morph into panic as I realize that I still smell him! ACK!
In a frenzy, I search my memory… Did I touch him? Did he come in contact with ANY part of me? Any part of my house?? Was he INSIDE?? I don't think so. But B.O. is one of those smells that lingers: it's hard to tell if it's actually PRESENT or if it's just your mind conjuring the malodorous memory.
I put away my packages and finally sit to enjoy my beef-radish-pretzel-wich.
It's no good.
Everything I eat tastes like Stench Charming.
God damn it.
I push away my plate, get up from the table and head off to shower.