My god. My god. Why has thou forsaken me???
What follows could possibly be classified as ‘Too Much Information’, so proceed at your own risk
I have itchy pit syndrome today.
This requires a lot of back-story.
Picture a Wee Weetabix, circa 1985. My mom was a hippy and we were doing the all-natural thing. This included everything: food, clothing, sunscreen, you name it. The ‘rents didn’t believe in deodorant for various reasons. I can still hear Paul’s voice in my head ‘Don’t you think you’re supposed to sweat? What do you think that does to your body, stopping all of those toxins from coming out? Antiperspirant is just like schmearing a bunch of liquid plastic over your skin, plugging up the sweat glands. Just take showers every day and you won’t need to wear deodorant.’
Um, yeah, explain that to the girls in gym class, huh Paul?
Anyway, a happy medium was to use these weird sodium crystals that you schmeared on your armpits. It didn’t stop you from sweating; it just killed the little bacteria that causes stank. Mom got it at the Natural Foods Co-op, next to the carob chips and bulgur wheat display. So we did. And all was well in the world of body odor prevention. Sure, your pits were a little moist sometimes, but for the most part, all was well.
Enter Mafia Grandma. Mafia Grandma is a little bit of an enigma in the world. She decided in her forties that men were trouble and a pain in the ass. She’s very masculine. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a hoot and I know that she’s part of the reason I’m not a girly girl.
I was spending the night at M.G.’s house and she asked me what my deodorant crystal was. I explained that it was deodorant and she then went into a lengthy tirade about sweat and how I was going to stain all of my shirts with sweat (which, actually, the rock DID bleach out some shirts, just an fyi). She then switched into the ‘talking to’ voice and said confidentially ‘It’s time you started using a real deodorant. Use mine this weekend and I’ll get you one of your own, too.’ With those remarks, she disgustedly threw away my sodium crystal.
What did I know? I mean, as a fourteen-year-old, I was always hovering between being chagrined and appalled by my hippy parental unit. Explaining to my friends that no, Paul wasn’t my dad, he was my Mom’s Boyfriend and yeah, he got that poncho while backpacking through Belize and no, he wears those sandals all year ’round, he just puts wool socks on in the winter’it got a bit much sometimes. So I rather willing allowed my grandmother to inflict her Exxtra Strength (notice the extra X!) Aerosol Right Guard on my tender underarms.
Before you get the wrong impression, we weren’t hippy in every way. I was shaving the pits, just not plastering them with aluminum by-products. Therein lies the problem.
For a week, I braced myself each morning for the chilly blast of my Exxtra Strength sweat protection. My armpits itched a little bit, but I figured that I was accustomed to them being moist and it was due to their unnaturally dry state.
Then the rash started. And the intense pain and itching. You know that song, ‘Hurts So Good’ by John WhateverHisNameIsNow? That was my mantra. I’d stand there, digging like crazy at the insane itchiness, then writhe and try to breathe through the fire in my armpits afterward.
I stopped using the Right Guard after about a week. The rash continued for three months, sending my immune system into a frantic pace. Both sides of my torso were covered in chicken skin. I didn’t tell the parental unit about what had spawned my allergy. They thought it was some sort of weird hive brought about by ragweed season. Ironically, I couldn’t wear any kind of deodorant whatsoever, on doctor’s orders, until the rash completely disappeared. Then the doctor recommended Secret Solid. So that’s what I’ve used for almost twenty years. He also recommended that I not shave my armpits ever, since that just leaves little tiny abrasions in my skin and if I use deodorant, it will get in and cause the rash. I told him that there was no way possible that I could be a hairy-pitted person when I needed to change for gym class every day. He understood my plight and agreed that I could shave my pits no more than once a week and then it had to be at night, allowing time for healing before putting on deodorant.
Fine. I’ve lived with this. I only shave once a week. I only wear Secret Solid Powder Scent, nothing more, not Sport Scent, not regular. I only put on the pit-stick if at least ten hours have passed. I follow the rules. I’m a good little histamine-filled non-smelly person.
I probably got a bit cocky. I had tried Secret Platinum Protection awhile back. It was ok. I bought some more. A couple of nights ago, I was shaving and got a little too aggressive on my right side. It stung the next morning when I lubed up the pits. I figured, ‘Nah, it’ll be ok.’
I was so wrong.
I would now like to run a wire brush voraciously over my armpits and scratch the hell out of them. Sure, it’s going to hurt like the fire of Beelzebub’s painful Mexican-food farts, and I may cower sobbing in the corner afterward, but I know that it will be the best feeling ever while I’m scratching. I mean, when I scratch my pits, I almost can feel my leg start to move like a dog wanting its belly scratched. If I could withstand the pain, I think I could even bring myself to an armpit orgasm.
Well, I must go now and surreptitiously scratch myself.
(sigh)
Men, if this is how your crotch gets, I feel for you. Really. Now, hand me that wire brush.
The Message Board wants it’s back scratched
