I made myself a lovely steak and some caesar salad last night.

Both items contained a fair amount of garlic, in the marinade I created for my happy little tenderloin, and in the dressing on the (yay! organic!) romaine hearts.

Which means that I, in turn, contained a fair amount of garlic.

And I think I still do.

This concerns me.

I never like to smell like what I eat, or — worse yet — what I’ve already eaten. The very thought of giving off some weird spicy odor after downing some curry or pasta or stir fry is enough to make me want to spritz perfume all over my body and up the noses of everyone who comes near me.

Most people won’t agree to that.

So I’m stressing.

The perfume thing is a starter solution, but if the garlic is coming out through my pores, I’m just going to end up smelling like (Garlic) Lychee Sugar. Or (Garlic) Vanilla. Or (Garlic) Jasmine.

And I did brush my teeth three times this morning with my Rembrandt toothpaste, and gargle with my Tom’s of Maine mouthwash. But neither one felt significantly burn-y and caustic enough to rid me of garlictude, if in fact I was giving off garlictude.

Did I mention that I dread the possibility of garlictude?

Argh.

It’s amazing how the fear of something so silly can impact how you carry yourself through your day.

I’ve avoided getting too close to people (other than, of course, showing them my underwear on Transit, which was both unexpected AND intimate.) I’ve walked around with my head down, trying to redirect the potential garlic aura away from the heads of others. I’ve tried not to talk too much when anyone has been in the outflow path of my breath. I’ve used lemon hand lotion twice an hour, hoping that it will sink into my pores deep enough to rescue me. I’ve consumed enough mints to recreate the polar ice cap in my stomach. I’ve slugged back enough coffee to make me smell like the ass of Juan Valdez (the one carrying the bag of beans, not the one beneath his poncho) because I’d rather give off that odor than, say, a faint whiff of spaghetti bolognese.

Basically, I’ve become a paranoid, antisocial, jittery freak because I ate garlic.

Remind me not to go to Italy anytime soon.

On the bus today, I was sitting near the front, since there were few other seats available, and no old or pregnant people rattling about.

Most of the time, I would stand anyway (just in case the elderly or knocked-up or elderly knocked-up appear) but today I was crazy tired. I needed to crash a little and prep my brain and body for work.

And that’s when the chaos began.

The first thing I did upon finding my seat was spill coffee all over my shirt. Which was okay, since the shirt is black. It didn’t even manage to soak through to the hot pink tank top underneath. I felt really lucky.

Until I spilled it on my pants.

In the midst of mopping that up with a random tissue I found in my purse, I let go of my iPod, which bounced onto my foot. Which a) hurt and b) probably took another one of the poor thing’s iLives.

When I bent to pick it up off the floor of the bus, I realized that my jeans were falling down.

Uh.

I now had the following in my hands:

tissue
iPod
cup of coffee
purse
umbrella

I had no free hand to yank my pants back up unless I could find a way to set something else down. And there was really nowhere to set anything, unless I asked the weird woman next to me to hold a couple items.

But she smelled of eggplant and looked enraged. So that didn’t seem like much of an option.

I shimmied a bit in my seat to try and send my jeans further back up my hips… but no luck.

I did, however, get the attention of the man across the aisle, who smiled and shimmied a little in his own seat.

As my stop approached, I knew I needed to do something, or risk a major underwear flash for 3/4 of the bus. I set my purse and umbrella down on the floor (DO YOU KNOW WHAT IS ON BUS FLOORS? EW.) and transferred everything to the other hand. But just as I reached to tug, the bus lurched quite suddenly, causing me to dump some of my coffee floorward.

Into my purse.

My purse which was now on the move. Rapidly.

Screw it.

I leapt to grab my purse, flashed the entire known universe — including the Shimmy Guy and Ms. Eggplant and the Somewhat Attractive Guy With Decent Hair Three Rows Back — and then sat back and took a long, thoughtful sip of what was left of my coffee.

It’s been an awesome day thus far.