My theory of hygiene

People shouldn't stink. That's my theory of hygiene. 

Not stinking does not require a daily shower, however, or a weekly load of clothes in the washing machine.

Showering: My last shower was five days ago, and I'm just starting to stink in the pits. Usually my scalp starts itching at around Day Three or Day Four, so that's when I shower.

I've been ignoring the itch for a few days, but I just shampooed with a bar of soap, and lathered all of me while the water was running. All clean now, clean enough to last until Thursday or Friday.

Clothes: Since I don't work in pig shit or come home covered in grime and sweat, it takes a long time before my shirts and pants get stinky or stiff.

At the end of every day, unless I've fallen in mud or had a mustard disaster, whatever I've worn goes back on the peg or shelf, to be worn another day. This continues until the clothes gain a funky odor, at which time they go into the washing machine.

(July, I think, was the last time I did laundry, and only because Sarah-Katherine was coming to visit. Which she never will again.)

And sorting between light colors, dark colors, and colorful colors is another canard. Segregation is over. All clothes go into the washer together.

T-shirts, underwear, and socks: Ah, now these all come in contact with the sources of human stink, so they need more frequent cleaning, but usually not in the washing machine. Instead I simply toss the smelly undergarments into the shower, and walk on them while I'm lathering my head and arms, legs, and genitals.

The t-shirts, underpants, and socks get sorta washed by all the soapy water, and then sorta rinsed by me standing on them as I rinse myself, so by my standards they're sorta clean. Then I wring 'em all out and leave 'em on my windowsill to dry.

We could end the California droughts if more people lowered their standards to match mine. And don't even get me started on the laughable ludicrously of folding clothes, or putting them on hangers.

From Pathetic Life #21
Monday, February 12, 1996 

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

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