No Such Thing as TMI, Part 2

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:

The natural deodorants. What a crock. That shit deodorizes about as well as crossing your fingers and hoping you don't stink.
The ones so effective you could supposedly skip a day. Lies.
The ones that are strong enough for a man but made for a woman. Not for this woman, apparently.
The ones that are actually made for a man. But the cologne smell was so strong, I would find myself hearing Daddy Yankee songs and looking around for the guy following me*.

So about two years ago, I did some research. On the interwebz. Which is magical in its offerings. And I found

Klima. Works like a goddamn dream.

How does it work? Remember how that lady died in Goldfinger?

She asphyxiated from being painted gold.

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.