Icky Doo

I write to you today out of a place of deep disgust because I smell very strongly of onions. A smell so pungent that I'm actually unable to focus on my work. Lest you think I exaggerate, I recently got on the elevator and the woman coming off said "whoosh." Now, I can't be sure that she was directly commenting on my onion bouquet, but I'm going to assume she was.

Some background. I recently got back on the Fit Train. I fell off the wagon (too many transportation themed metaphors?) after my triathlon LAST AUGUST and attempts to hitch a ride back on the train have been sporadic. At best.

Now, with my handy Lose It! iPod app, I have been logging my calories dutifully. It's just that today I had a strong craving for something heartier than celery and hummus. Additionally, I tire of sitting at my desk, eating my lunch, and trying to keep my basal temperature above that of a corpse. Translation: it's cold as a flippin' morgue in my office. I, therefore, searched the web to find that I could enjoy a jr. deluxe burger at Sonic with a side of sunshine at no real expense to my daily caloric intake.

My cursory glance at the calories, rather than the ingredients, brings us to the tragedy. I don't eat onions. I loathe them. I am hypersensitive to them and can smell them in at least a seventy foot radius around my desk. But my poor jr. deluxe burger was chock-full of these rogue bulbs. Now I assure you that I'm a rational person and would normally just remove the offending vegetables from my burger. But have you been to Sonic? They chop them up all tiny-like and there's no good way to salvage your burger. So I ate it. And I dropped a tiny bit of it on my pants.

I have no explanation for the permeating smell that surrounds me. I chewed a stick of gum, washed my hands twice, and lathered my pants with a wet wipe. Yet, there is still a stench so strong and mighty that one might wonder, as they pass my desk, whether I may have bathed in onions this morning.

Let me tell you, it's excellent for one's self-esteem.