I’m kind of a sweaty monster.
I always have been. When I get hot…which is often, because of the…you know, the extry insulation…because I’m a little bit of a chubster…
Anyhow, when I exercise or get nervous or even just experience a day in Durham between March 1 and December 1, beads of sweat pop out on my upper lip and my forehead develops a sheen and pretty soon I’ve got pit-stains the size of pancakes. Shortly thereafter I’m on the train to Stankonia.
I should say, I used to get pit-stains. And I used to visit Stankonia.
You see, I tried all the different underarm products:
So about two years ago, I did some research. On the interwebz. Which is magical in its offerings. And I found
How does it work? Remember how that lady died in Goldfinger?
That was baloney—you can’t die from asphyxiation if you can still get air in through your mouth and/or nose…where air usually goes—but you can block pores by painting the skin, or in my case, spraying a little ethyl alcohol cocktail on it.
The negative: (1) It’s one million dollars a bottle. (2) If you spray it on before your underarms are completely dry, it’ll itch like crazy. And (3) it, like many antiperspirants, is chock-full of aluminum, and I hear that when they autopsy Alzheimer’s patients’ brains, they’re just lousy with the stuff.
So basically I’m spraying Alzheimer’s directly into my armpits.
But, hey, no pit-stains! No stank!
*Just so we’re clear, I’m pro-Latino dudes. I nearly married one. But many of them really like their Old Spice**.
**Just so we’re clear, I’m also pro-Old Spice. I like a man who smells good. Just not bathed in it so that the inside of my nostrils feel all burny.