I am not firing on all cylinders today. It's not my fault. It wasn't the Girl Scout cookies I had for breakfast, either. Was it the guy trying to have an orgasm on the treadmill next to me, for 29 minutes? oh, oH, OHOHOHOH... People kept stopping to stare; I have no idea why I was the one embarrassed.
Was it the woman who gave her boobs a bath in the middle of the women's locker room? She was buck naked, bent over, sink stopped up and filled with water; splishing and splashing and rub-dub-a-dubbing away as I pretended that was completely normal, too. I went about my lady business of, you know, applying lipstick and fluffing my hair, and got the heck out of there.
Or was it the lady who cut in front of me get her cup of coffee; obviously she's way more important than me.
Someone needs to develop an "Appropriate Response App"... (They could call it App-App.) I would buy that.
(And by the way, if your boobs are that smelly, might I recommend a SHOWER?)