I smell so good.
I leave you clean and fresh and my little microbeads of moisturizer even keep you from getting dry.
And I don’t really get kids drunk off my fumes. They get sick way before they have any fun. I make sure of that.
I don’t actually do anything against cold viruses, but you don’t care, do you? And I’m damn good at killing off all the fecal bacteria that’s… everywhere. No, really, it is. You've seen that expose on the news last week. Bacteria, man, that’s where I’m a Viking.
Actually, that’s where I’m a little worried. I mean, I saw the *other* expose on the news last week, too. The one that says you’re stupid with me, and with my cousins, the soap and the wipes and that overachiever, the baby-toy plastic. To say nothing of the previous generation, my parents and aunts and uncles, the antibiotic pills you pop when you get a cold even though it’s a virus, damn it. We don’t kill viruses, how many times do I need to say it?
And because of you, because of us, because of how you use us, there’s bugs growing that we can’t fight. So you slather me on your hands before dinner and I can’t promise I’ll do any good. Even though it’s my job.
But hey. I smell good.