04.26.07

I Stink

Posted in Hmph, Meh, My Life Is Punctuated by Useless Bouts of Panic at 7:38 am by jeci

As part of my new “Jeci Who Will Do Her Best to Remember That She Is a Latent Lunatic Who Must Treat Herself with Kid Gloves” regime, I am not going to stir the pot of my churning anxieties by musing about all the changes on my horizon or waxing nostalgic on the series of grand mistakes that culminated in my having a meltdown on my 31st birthday. For now. No, for now I’m going to remember that it’s the little things.

Little things like how bad you smell. Not only has it taken me 31 years to discover my latent lunacy, it’s also taken me 31 years to discover my latent B.O. problem. While I’ve had the Most Temperamental Skin in the World since the onset of puberty, apparently I was spared the puberty double strike of Bad Skin/B.O. Until now. (Memo to body: Are you confused? Or maybe dyslexic? It’s 31, not 13!) It would appear that I have been able to mask this problem by routinely slathering my armpits with carcinogens. You see, a while ago, the paper ran an article about the 10 most carcinogenic common household items and antiperspirant was one of the items (deodorant is either okay, or at least not in the top 10). (I’ve searched the Internet for the electronic copy of this article and can’t find it, so you’ll just have to believe me.) I actually dismissed this news with a confident wave of my hand, saying something like, “Pbbbfft! Oh, that one’s no problem! You know, I’ve never really needed antiperspirant anyway.” Which was true, at some point. I know in high school, I used to wonder what the point of deodorant/antiperspirant was since I hardly ever sweat and didn’t really smell when I did; but I wore antiperspirant anyway just in case I DID stink but couldn’t tell.

It turns out that I certainly CAN tell when I stink, which is almost ALL THE TIME now. Always erring on the side of paranoia when it comes to cancer (and believing myself to be genetically blessed with armpits that sweat rosewater), I confidently made the switch from antiperspirant to an all natural, calendula something or other deodorant. Now either deodorant is the most gravely misnamed product ever to hit the supermarket shelves, or I have a problem. I’m not the genetically blessed delicate flower I thought I was, but am a sweaty man beast who can only be quelled by a thick layer of white carcinogenic paste!

Husband has repeatedly assured me that I don’t stink and that he can only smell my hair (and then he leans in and smells my hair and now he is becoming increasingly obsessed with my hair). And then I think that Husband only thinks that I don’t stink because he likes my pheromones anyway, which becomes obvious when he won’t let go of strands of my hair and presses them into his lips. (It’s getting to be a little like that Cripsin Glover character in the Charlie’s Angels movie.)

In the end, I asked (interrogated) my best friend the last time I saw her (numerous times) because I knew she would tell me the truth and wouldn’t be tricked by the pheromones streaming out of the ends of my hair. She said: “But I thought you didn’t sweat! Why did you switch to deodorant? Is it because you saw that article about carcinogens in the Journal? No you totally don’t stink. And you’re too paranoid about getting cancer.”

WELL. Obviously, she doesn’t know me AT ALL.

Anyway, either I’m getting more used to the more natural smelling me or I’ve finally found a deodorant that lives up to its name, so you needn’t fear running into me on the street or anything. And, perhaps ironically, my increased gym activity seems to be helping because that means I now shower twice a day and that seems to head off at the pass any encroaching funk. And SHUT UP. All super feminine dainty women like me shower twice a day just so they don’t get mistaken for some kind of yeti.

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