DAnnisms

Armpit Detox

I have a girlfriend who tells me her husband doesn’t even need deodorant. I’m not sure what kind of freak of nature he is, but I’ve needed deodorant since I was eleven, and I was a late bloomer on all other fronts. (There may be a pun in there, and for that, I am sorry.)

My maternal grandfather never used deodorant, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t need to. The man stank. Papa worked construction, and he always thought my dad was a girly man. Daddy’s folks was rich, and he not only wore deodorant, but he also wore a little cologne, and he was very concerned about the freshness of his breath.

 And now, here I am coming full circle. Every weekend I stop wearing deodorant so I can stink like my grandpa. I just can’t stand that sticky residue that doesn’t seem to go away after washing. I call it detoxing my armpits, and I don’t care that those people at the restaurants crinkle their noses and look at us funny.  For just two days of the week, I am free to put down “my holy desert shield that keeps me dry under the arms.”