Sell me your furniture. And body odor is gross.

Julia DeCook

Are some people not aware of their own B.O.?

I’ll be sitting in a public space, minding my own business when the unmistakable scent of body odor starts lingering around me. Of course my first instinct is to smell myself as surreptitiously as possible, and then I will completely drop to look around the room to identify the culprit. If it were socially acceptable, I would even go so far as to try and smell the people that I deem the wrongdoers.

I know this is petty and superficial, but some people’s B.O. is so bad that I lose all focus and can think of nothing else. It’s as if it has some magical effect on my already short attention span.

And if you must ask, yes, I wrote this after smelling some rank B.O. wafting around the library. I think it’s the creepy guy in the corner who looks like he hasn’t showered in a month, but looks can be deceiving. He could be the best smelling human on Earth, but for now I’m going to assume it’s him.

Secondly, because I really have nothing more to say about B.O. (other than I wish it were socially acceptable to walk up to someone and shove deodorant in their face), graduation is upon some of you. Some people have been stressed about this moment for years, others it probably did not hit until just recently.

This is my attempt at being optimistic rather than falling back on the pessimistic viewpoint you have seen so far.

The world is in a better condition than we think. People say that so many bad things did not happen in the past, but just as many horrendous events occurred. People just did not have it bombarded in their faces all the time.

Thirdly, I am moving into a new apartment when semester hits, give me your furniture. I’ll give you like five bucks or maybe more depending on how cheap and Asian I feel like being.

Just kidding about point number three, unless you’re feeling particularly generous. I wish nothing but the best for all of you embarking on the journey of adulthood.

And if you need somebody to listen to jazz, get drunk with and complain about life, my e-mail is somewhere at the bottom of this article. That is not an invitation to the creepers who may possibly read this, because I am going to assume you have rank B.O. and I will want to be nowhere near you anyway.

Also, you’re creepy. That combined with bad B.O. just costs you a lot of points in my book.