Dear Saint Potpourri,

The time has come to complain. I'm sorry.

I appreciate the fact that there's a scent-squirter in the women's bathroom to mask any unpleasant smells. And for the most part, it works unobtrusively.

But it seems to be my luck to walk in at about the time that it sends out a fresh blast of scent. And in a small, windowless bathroom, it is like walking into the perfume section of a department store when they are actively hawking "Remora," their new expensive gladiola-sandalwood-eau-de-gorilla musk, and being cornered by three ambitious perfume mongerers who are paid on commission.

And worse still, it aims directly over the sink, so I am constantly facing the dilemma of whether to clean my hands and risk blinding myself, not to mention subject myself to level 5 olefactory hurricanes, or whether to spread germs as far as the office's kitchen sink, and THEN kill 'em off.

All of which leads to total paranoia -- entering the bathroom and listening, trepidatiously, for that unholy "shppppppppst" sound, at which point I have less than 5 seconds before I feel my hair anointed and must return to the office smelling like a french...well...you know...woman who likes to hang out on street corners late at night.

I swear I have transcended the sins of evil scent. Saint Potpourri, I need no further anointment! I have paid my nostril pennance! I have already been baptized! Have mercy!!