There seems to be a growing army of online businesses convinced that I am neglecting my personal hygiene. But with the help of UPS and other package delivery services, my woes will soon be over.
First it was Dollar Shave Club, an online razor blade home delivery service known not just for its products but also its creative and hilarious YouTube videos featuring company co-founder Michael Dubin.
After assorted friends shared their infatuation with Dollar Shave Club via my Facebook wall, I visited the company website. Within minutes I was told that I was not only overpaying for razor blades, but my face was suffering because I did not always have fresh clean blades at my disposal.
Dollar Shave Club would solve these newfound problems by depositing blades in my mailbox on a monthly basis.
The pitch worked. Suddenly I decided that, yes, I need a constant stream of razor blades in my life. Never mind that my local drugstore is within walking distance of my house and never once have I had to move appointments around in my day planner because I needed a razor blade pronto.
A mere month after joining Dollar Shave Club, word had infiltrated cyberspace: Greg is too lazy to leave his home for basic necessities.
Enter FreshCleanTees.com, the "premier tee shirt club for all your T-Shirt needs" according to its website. I'm guessing that somehow, some way, the company discovered I was a Dollar Shave Club subscriber and decided to pounce by following me on Twitter. This despite the fact that I have never once, via social media posts, pleaded for a clean T-shirt. I vaguely remember mentioning on Facebook that I had packed mismatched shoes for a speaking engagement, a post that received the most unoriginal of responses from several friends:
"Bet you have another pair just like them at home."
Oh, the hilarity.
Frankly, I'm surprised MensShoeClub.com did not discover that post. Otherwise, it would have surely offered to solve my feet/fashion faux pas with an invitation to receive, monthly, "a fresh new pair of premium leather shoes ... selected by our expert shoe stylists."
If company representatives are reading this column and feel inclined to send me an invitation, let me say that I purchase premium leather shoes about as often as I renew my passport.
I purchase T-shirts a bit more frequently, usually from Wal-Mart or some other discount retail establishment. They are white, nondescript and provide nothing more than a layer of protection and warmth between my skin and a dress shirt. But, thanks to FreshCleanTees.com, I now know that T-shirts have a "finite expiration date that most guys ignore leading to pit-stains, holes, and possibly even a funky smell that can lead to an awkward moment at the bar."
Suddenly self-conscious, I asked my wife for clarification after donning a T-shirt from my closet.
Honey, do I smell funky?
No. Well, yes, but no.
While contemplating whether I should join FreshCleanTees.com or stay away from bars altogether, a tweet from GoodMouth.com inexplicably appeared on my Twitter feed. The company offers, you guessed it, home delivery of toothbrushes and other oral care products.
GoodMouth.com's mere presence on my computer has taken self-consciousness to a new level. Now I sit alone in my house, convinced I will not be invited to any Christmas parties this year due to my stinky breath and equally foul smelling armpits. But I could be the hit of those parties. I could engage any guest in close conversation thanks to my minty fresh, home delivered breath. Meanwhile, women and men from across the room would seek me out thanks to my smooth skin and stylish red T-shirts, perfect for the holidays. With a few simple mouse clicks and my ever present credit card, I could become far more sanitized while sitting on my rear end.
And speaking of rear ends, Dollar Shave Club is insisting, through email enticements, that One Wipe Charlies accompany my monthly blade deliveries. The flushable wipes contain a "gentle, peppermint scent" resulting in a "minty tingle."
No thanks, Dollar Shave Club. I'm fine with toilet paper. Even if it means occasionally venturing to the corner drugstore.