I like preservatives. I like chemical agents. I have a lovely aloe plant, one branch of it needed to be plucked. I did so, cracked it open and, since I had the remnants of a sunburn on my cheeks, rubbed some of the goo on my face. As I did this Ann said, “doesn’t pure aloe smell like B.O.?” And that’s when it hit me! My cheeks, my face, my entire head was suddenly enveloped in the most horrendous, dirty funk I’ve smelled since the last time I was trapped on the subway with a group of Pakistani Grateful Dead fans. Seriously, I smelled like an ass. I smelled like Smarty Jones’ ass. I smelled like Smarty Jones’ aged grandmother’s ass. From now on, everything I buy has to come in a bottle, approved by the good people at CVS.