You are one of the 80 percent of women and 10 percent of men in Seattle who wear way too much perfume. You must think you smell really bad naturally to get the impression that the Black Flag or Eau de Raid you're bathing in is an improvement. There is no escaping the lung-grating miasma you deposit like a slug trail. Bills I get in change are saturated with your fetid cologne. Any doorknob is likely to slime my hand with your reek. In a just universe, the particles you shed would fluoresce yellow, making it easier for leopards to track you and cull you from the human herd—if they could bear the taste.

My friend Nemo, a pro-perfume heterosexual man, says scent should not be detectable more than 12 inches away. You are trailing a 30-yard toxic cone of stink. Maybe as a harm-reduction strategy, you could use a trace of high-quality perfume instead of pickling yourself in gallons of the cheap stuff? But no—every year, the Seattle chemstink gets worse. Think you don't use perfume? Take a whiff of the fragrance-sodden offal you call shampoo. Worried about how you smell? How about if you bathe? With unscented soap? No, I don't have an "environmental illness" or allergies. I just don't like crap that stinks. And that, madam or sir, would be you.