Yes.
Is this worthy of a blog post? I hope so, as I’m about to attempt one, and I’m out of ideas.
But, alas, it is true.
I woke up this morning to rain, which sucks because that meant I couldn’t ride my bike to work. No bike ride means I didn’t burn off a bunch of calories and I acted like a spaz all day. Also, here in Chicago, rain in late July means humidity. I’m not sure exactly how humidity works, but I do know this. It melts my underwear.
I’ve written about how I sweat on my chest and back like an asshole. Since I normally put my suit in a pack on my bike, I had to wear it to the office in ninety degree weather with this insane humidity.
I ended up leaving work after an hour to go to therapy and I walked a good mile because the bus didn’t show up. I had to bring a small hand towel with me and every seventeen seconds I was wiping my face.
By the time I got to therapy I was drenched. Or, more accurately, my hand towel was drenched. In the waiting room I poured sweat like the picture of physical and mental health. My undershirt, being cotton, was holding in the terribleness of my essence.
Back at the office, for the next two hours I was interviewing people. I kept my tie down and apologized in advance for the sweating. It legitimately took that whole time to get homeostatic. I looked more nervous than the applicants.
When I got home tonight, I took off my dress shirt as it needed to be laundered or set on fire. Then, I smelled it. I just assumed it was an olfactory mistake. I’ve made smell gaffes before. Once I was in an elevator with two people and I thought I smelled burning electrical wire. I mentioned it to the two people who said nothing. Then I realized it was the smell of the old man in the elevator. He smelled like hot burning metal.
I caught a massive whiff of B.O. Now, as a chest and back sweater, I can look disgusting. But I never smell. Probably because my armpits just don’t seat. So, imagine my surprise when I whipped off my undershirt and the smell of death wafted over me. I wanted to kick my own ass.
Let me remind you – a few years back, to prove that I never had B.O. I quietly decided to stop using it. I told only my then-wife and she never noticed a scent of badness for a full year. After I had proved that I just didn’t produce the odor of body I started back on the Mitchum.
Today I stank like a migrant worker in Calcutta. I immediately scrubbed down my armpits with green shower gloves. Then, reapplied the deodorant with three coats. My underwear, too, had a smell that, while not B.O, was equally exciting.
So there I was, naked, trying to wash off my body stink, and my tax person calls. I stood there desperately scrubbing and applying while she was explaining how I need to manage my stuff in Quickbooks. I so wanted to tell her I was naked and rank, just for a goof. But she wouldn’t have laughed. Tax accountants are serious.
Tomorrow the high is supposed to be 98 ° – I can’t wait to bring the funk. I really hope I can start pumping out B.O. like a normal person. I just want to be normal!
photo credit: Vegetarian-Vegan-Bodybuilding-Info via photo pin cc