Wednesday morning Armpitistice
This morning the day has gotten off to a most embarrassing start.
Firstly, I must declare that I'm almost obsessive-compulsive about my deodorant application. I should point out that I don't have a body odour problem, and I never have, at least as far as I've noticed. Indeed, I could probably count on the fingers of one armpit the number of times that I have let any secreted aromatic hydrocarbon rings escape into the atmosphere from my pit glands. However, that doesn't stop me from spending at least 5 minutes each morning rolling on my Mitchum For Men ("48 hour protection - so good you could even skip a day" - the best deodorant I've sampled!). I'd probably be dead if I still used spray-ons, the amount that I used to get through; back in my Lynx days I ended up choking on the fumes most days. I reckon that roll-ons saved my life!
So my obsession may be a problem, but not a big problem. The worst part was the amount of clothes that ended up being stained yellow with deo - even after running around doing airplanes for half an hour or so, there'd still be sufficient wet residue to further increment the damage to that favourite top...
The breakthrough arrived with the girlfriend. A hairdryer!
It works a treat - every morning, before I put on my shirt, I thoroughly blow-dry my armpits. No more sitting around, no more damaged shirts.
It might look a tad silly, but I've not felt any embarrassment in this.
Until this morning, that is. Standing there in my boxer shorts, hand held aloft as I blowdry my armpits, back turned to the bedroom window at my girlfriends' parents house, I hear a knocking at the window. Turning round, there's a bemused-looking window cleaner staring in...
Aaaagh! What can you do in such circumstances? Run and hide, or stay and complete the job?