Brutal reality miraculously circumvented by the Swiss

God bless my coworker J who brought in a tiny little bottle of something called Eucasol to deodorize the women's room. One spray and the charnelhouse smell is nearly gone, for now anyhow.

Doo-be-doo axe wound!

For those folks who have met me, it should go without saying that I am not a hothouse flower when it comes to smells and bodily functions--I'm sure some of you can recall the night I burned my ass hairs during the fart-lighting contest. (Thanks to the quickthinking fellow with the pitcher of beer--I owe you one.) Anyhow, for those of you who *don't* know me personally, I am fully accepting of smells, so don't get all Our-Bodies-Ourselves on me when I say that there is someone in my office with a serious medical condition. I'm not talking about feeling not-so-fresh; I'm talking about gangrene. As such, the bathroom smells (as Erika Lopez puts it) like a trapped and fearful vagina. Leave it to the Swiss--them's some uptight motherfuckers, if you wanna cast a stone--to create a miracle spray to eradicate chthonic odors.