If your body is a temple, mop regularly.

The human body is an amazing thing. Truly it is. It can be athletic, comforting, strong, complicated. It can be beautiful, flexible, resilient. It can create new life. It can also create a stench unlike anything God could have intended.

Today at lunch, I went to the library in search of a book I'm supposed to be reading for my book club (book club is next Sunday, and I'm unlikely to finish this book in only two weeks - I'm painfully slow to get through books. But I'll try.). I try to go to the big central library downtown when I can, but this book was only available at a couple of the satellite locations. So, I found the nearest one and traveled there on my lunch hour.

The branch I went to is small. Very small. It's in a strip mall, and I'm surprised they have enough space to stock enough books to justify the branch. But the book I wanted was there, so they at least had that one on one of their two shelves. Anyway, I walk into branch, my head down, looking at my piece of paper with the book's call number on it so I'd know which shelf to go to, and I was met with the most rank odor imaginable. Skunks would have run.

I knew immediately this was human stink, and I jerked my head up to see if some homeless guy was standing directly in front of me, and to my surprise, there was no one within 10 feet of me, except the librarian, who had clearly showered this morning. I shifted my gaze to the left and there sat two men reading. It's hard to say if they were homeless, but it's likely. One was an older guy, maybe in his 50s, and he had a big backpack on the table in front of him - always a give away. The other guy was younger, in his 20s, with massive dreadlocks.

The dreds tell you right off this person's hygeine is questionable - it means that this is not someone who washes his hair every day. And trust me, unless you're 5 or 75, you need to wash your hair everyday. And your body. And you need to apply deodorant under your arms. This ain't France. But just because said 20-something had dreds, that doesn't mean he's homeless. He could just be...natural (because matting your hair into something that has to be cut away when you're finally tired of Bob Marley and you'd like a paycheck from somewhere not a sandwich shop is...natural). It's entirely possible, though.

All I can tell you is that the ungodly funk produced by one or both of these men permeated the entire room. I bustled myself to the shelf I needed, grabbed the book I'd come for and rushed to the check-out desk. I couldn't get outside fast enough to breathe fresh air. I didn't even put my wallet away before fleeing the library branch, and that was not safe, considering the neighborhood. But hey - it was either take my chances outside, or pass out inside, in which case the homeless guys can steal my wallet anyway.

My one question as I retreated to the safety and freshness of my car was this: How do the librarians stand it? I gotta tell you, human compassion aside, I just couldn't work some place that smelled that rank. I couldn't do it. I'm sorry that people are homeless. I can only imagine how rough of a life that is. But this isn't a rant about the condition of homelessness or homelessness programs or anything of the kind. In fact, I'm being generous even assuming that the Funkmasters were homeless. If you're homeless, showering may not be a daily option. For all I know, these guys could have homes and showers, but they simply elect not to use them. Dreds guy could be making some kind of social statement!

I don't know. All I know is that Stinky McFoul was emanating some oooooodor. And for Miss Raised in the Suburbs and Feelin' Good About It over here, it was toe-curling.