My battle with underarm unpleasantries runs my life.
In fact, I would almost call it dehabilitating. Really. If I could make one of those terrible pharmaceutical commericals, I would show people from all age brackets beyond puberty dealing with the heavy, personal burden of underarm skunk, barred up in their bedrooms out of fear. After a montage of these folks being suddenly accosted by the sweat storm brewing in their greasy pits, I would offer solace – a golden beacon of light behind a perfect antiperspirant, one offering both salvation from wetness and odor.
Unfortunately, this product does not actually exist.
Really – it can’t. It can’t possibly exist. Because I’m pretty darn sure I’ve tried everything – women’s, men’s, spray on, rub on, powder, prescription, clinical strength-and I still trust no product enough to be able to shop for blouses in confidence.
You know what I’m talking about. There are certain materials that are not underarm friendly and as a result cannot be purchased by sufferers of U.U.S.S. (Unavoidable Underarm Skunk and Swamp). Thin cotton? Forget it. Fine Silk? Ruined in 30 minutes. My pits are an unstoppable sweaty stinky force to be reckoned with.
I once knew a girl who had a procedure to remove the sweat glands from her underarms. It sounded to me like absolute euphoria. I could imagine no greater aspiration than my freedom from the cold, lonley cage of pit perils.
I later found out that a natural side effect of removing underarm sweat glands is increased perspiration in other areas of the body. Gross.
Once, last year, I thought I would try the complete opposite and see if it helped my cause. Yes, that’s correct; I went an entire day with absolutely no underarm aid whatsoever. Just fresh, clean, Jackie dew. And you know what? I was actually all right. For some reason I sweated less, and the sweat that I had didn’t even stink. I was startled and confused.
Of course, I dropped the practice the very next day for fear that I had finally flung over the full-fledged hippie fence and I haven’t looked back since.
Next thing you know, I’d stop shaving my underarms and start a nice set of dreds. My family would undoubtedly disown me. I’m toeing the line as it is.
And so I must trudge on with my personal burden. It is mine to carry and so I shall. Long gone are the days when I could slather on “Teen Spirit” and a smile to face my day. I’ve reached a new chapter in my life. And until I turn on the T.V. to a sincere female voice describing my social inhibitions and everyday struggles as a result of U.U.S.S., followed by a brilliant beam of light and a life-saving product, it appears this new chapter will be a damp one. ♣