Because you do NOT want to know my opinions about the concept of Zero Tolerance as applied to just about anything, particularly when it is applied to families by rogue governments, I will write about Mr. Rank and Mr. Odiferous. (Pleeeeease do not start railing at me about Open Borders and George Soros and all that kind of crapola. It is fake news, much more fake than what the Orange Baboon calls fake news.)

Anyway, it was swampy hot around here the last couple days and I could have turned on the central A/C but I preferred to listen to the birds and insects and the Neighborhood Rooster! So, when I visited the Water Closet at That Batscope Hour last night, I realized my nightshirt was, hmmm, a little ripe-smelling (I hope that’s not TMI). I am a CLEAN person. I shower and wash my hair EVERY morning and I have been known to take a second shower later in the day. I do laundry frequently and have been known to purchase multiples of some of my fave articles of clothing so if something is in the laundry I have a duplicate. I am clean enough that I can usually manage to go a week without laundering my nightshirt. Somehow or other it missed the train this weekend.

I washed my nightshirt today and it is dry and clean and smells like Tide Pods, which I do not eat. Once I somehow (and it was totally accidental) got an ATOM of laundry detergent in my mouth. I did a lot of spitting to get that thing out of there. So I don’t understand Tide Pod eating.

It all got me thinking about the year Radical Betty and My Dear Uncle Duck were building their ski chalet retaaaarment home on the shores of Gitchee Gumee, just down the beach from the moomincabin. There were places to borrow showers and Radical Betty (who was also a CLEAN person) made sure she got a shower whenever she wanted one. Uncle Duck and Grinchie (his son) were building the place themselves and they went a lot longer between showers than Radical Betty. I remember one day when they called the Dillon House in Sault Ste. Siberia (aka my parents’ house) to ask if Mr. Rank and Mr. Odiferous could come into town and take showers. Yes, yes, yes! And probably some bourbon or whatever ended up being involved too. (Word Nerds: I am aware that the “proper” spelling of “odiferous” is really “odoriferous” but the word used in that situation was “odiferous” and googling around, it seems to be recognized as a variant.)

One more memory of that period of time. I was “home” at the Dillon House for some reason and was taking a shower when the frickin’ phone rang. Br-r-r-r-rrrrringgggg! This was in the days of landlines and for reasons I can’t remember, when the phone rang, people felt they needed to answer it. I grabbed a towel and as I was opening the bathroom door, Mr. Rank aka Uncle Duck was barging in the front door yelling, “I’ll get it!” Thank you! Nowadays, I have no landline and my phone is usually in the bathroom with me 🐽. If I do not know exactly who’s calling, I do not answer my phone, especially not when I am in the shower!

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