One day, while browsing the Internet, I came across an article about the benefits of natural deodorant, and boy, did I feel foolish. It turns out that natural deodorant is free of the chemicals regular deodorant possesses, which can decrease your chances of cancer. And there I was, all that time using Old Spice like a senseless buffoon.

The next morning, I ran to CVS and purchased the beginning of my new life: a natural, cancerless deodorant. I took a whiff and let the sweet smell of health fill my nostrils.

I was so excited about my lifestyle change, and couldn’t wait to tell my wife. For years, she had been telling me to work on improving my health, but losing weight takes years, and alcoholism runs in my family (which I’ve told her several times), so when she came home from work that day, I embraced her with a grin I just couldn’t hide.

She pulled away from me immediately, gripping her nose in disgust. She asked if I forgot to put on deodorant that day, to which I explained I had put on deodorant and was lowering my risk of cancer while doing so.

I couldn’t believe the next words out of her mouth. She had the audacity, nay, the nerve to tell me that natural deodorant is a hoax; just another way to scare people into buying useless, expensive deodorant that doesn’t even work.

I left the kitchen, hurt and confused. “She’ll come around,” I thought to myself. “She’ll come around.”

Every day, I woke up and applied my natural deodorant. And every day, my wife complained of my “foul odor.” She even threw the deodorant away. It was like she wanted me to get cancer. I immediately replaced it (with plenty of backups in case she ever tried that stunt again).

Weeks went by, and I started getting fewer hugs from my kids. I blamed it on puberty and their uncontrollable hormones, until my wife reminded me our kids are five and eight.

Before I knew it, the kids wouldn’t let me tuck them in anymore. I couldn’t even read them Good Night Moon. They begged my wife to do it, which was a huge mistake because she doesn’t possess the storytelling talents that I have.

When I picked them up from school, the other kids would laugh and point, calling me “Stinky Steve,” and “Dirty Daddy.” I’ll admit, “Dirty Daddy” had a nice ring to it, but “Stinky Steve” just hurt.

Other parents wouldn’t allow their children to come over for playdates. They told me it was because their kids were allergic to cats, which I would have understood if we had a cat.

Worst of all, I stopped getting invited to the kids’ school events. I loved Jimmy’s mom’s peanut butter cookies, but it didn’t matter anymore; I was exiled from every bake sale for the rest of my life.

One evening, when I was working late, my wife took the kids to her mother’s for dinner. When they didn’t come home that night, I began to worry, until I found a note from my wife telling me that the smell had become too unbearable to continue living with. She told me she was leaving me and taking the kids too.

“She’s kidding,” I thought as I stared out the window. “They’ll be home any minute now. Any minute.”

Three years later, I finally found a new family. I’m proud to announce that I’ve found my home with a pack of wolves.

Living in a society that couldn’t accept my natural lifestyle forced me to leave the life I knew, and take to the woods. Eating raw meat and sleeping in dirt took some getting used to, but after a few days, it started to feel right.

The wolves enjoy my natural, wholesome body odor. They say it helps attract prey. I’m essential to their survival, and it feels good to be needed again.

I haven’t seen my wife or our kids since they left that day, and to be honest, I don’t know if I ever will, but I feel at peace. The pack is my family now… until they decide to turn on me and tear through my flesh.

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