OK, I know we shouldn’t air out our dirty laundry in public, but I feel this is the appropriate time and place to get out the stench that has been wreaking havoc on my soul.

I once felt justified, peaceable and content about myself, but I feel the need to unearth a few hidden desires.

Generally, I’m a neat, tidy and clean person. I bathe regularly, use a certain shampoo and wash my hands religiously. I hate touching the bathroom door handle and loathe the thought of what is on the soles of my shoes.

Happiness, I’m learning, requires getting dirty. Not with jokes, works or thoughts, but by literally covering myself with mud, dirt, bilge and swamp water.

This is where the hidden desires come into play.

Shel Silverstein wrote a poem called “The Dirtiest Man in the World” about a guy named Dan who has never taken a shower. Eloquently put, “he can’t see his shirt; it’s so covered in dirt, and his ears have enough to grow flowers.”

I want to be like Dan. I want to run in mud and get it in my ears. I want so much dirt in my ears that the city of Rexburg would want to open a botanical garden around my head. That would be the life.

I want and need everything that has to do with outdoors and dirt.

Pleasant summer day? Give it to me. Outdoors? Send it overnight to my front door. Big sky adventure? Label it in a Ghostbusters lunch box and send me off to school. I want to be outdoors — now. I want to live with the bears (but not be eaten by them). I want to run in the rain and splash in the puddles. I want to play mud football, cut myself up from tackles and catch an elbow to the jugular.

I want to survive an elbow to the jugular.

I want to run a race — and win. I want to crawl around the ground getting my elbows all scuffed up and dirty alongside a plethora of rats. I want the rats to then climb all over me and share with me the bubonic plague their fleas carry.

I want to survive the bubonic plague.

African safaris are right up my alley these days. I want to four-wheel in a Jeep Wrangler through the African desert, searching for lions, elephants and the ever-elusive South African bobsled team. I want to feast on gnats, centipedes and African bees.

My inhibitions are thrown out the door! I will no longer shower with flip-flops on! I will allow my hair to be out of place, and I will attempt to work up a sweat while playing soccer. I will look death in the face and compliment him on his halitosis.

I will be a free man. I will be a man’s man. A sporting enthusiast. A trustworthy soul. A walking botanical garden.

If happiness comes from being dirty, I want to swim in sewer water while break dancing with Michelangelo, Raphael, Leonardo and Donatello.

I will be dirty — just after I wash my hands; this keyboard is filthy.