Stinking is the Pits
I think i might be one of the hairier, smellier girls around. When I was in college I neither wore deodorant nor shaved, AND I had a boyfriend it you can believe it! Not shaving was my way of not “playing the game”.
Anytime some white baseball capped frat boy dude-bro even looked my way all I had to do was merely raise an arm and all I’d see in his place was a puff of smoke. I would smile wryly. It’s been years since I went back to shaving.
One of my friend’s mothers actually approached me after I decided to shave and said, “I just want you to know how happy I am that you’re shaving again.” I guess some people were really bothered: all the more reason to have continued the rebellion.
The reason for the no deodorant factor was just the Alzheimer’s myth. It’s only been about a year that I’ve been back on the deo. I finally broke down when my good friend said, “Sabs, you know I love you, but sometimes you stink.”
The message was pretty clear: the hippie oils weren’t cutting it anymore. At least my good chum was kind enough to let me know.
Yet, even after I made the switch back to deo, I tell ya, the shit still doesn’t work – half way through the day I still ripen like a sweet piece of fruit; then I fall off the vine.
Incidentally, I keep deo in my desk drawer for the mid-day stank. I also keep toothpaste, shampoo, dental floss, nail polish remover, eye liner, nail files, tampons, baby powder, and lotion.
Hey you never know. The one thing that should be in there is a razor. I start getting a 5:00 shadow under my arms at 3:00 (not just smelly, but hairy too – WOW)! God, I’m so hot.
Hair Don’t
I just got my hair cut this week. I hate getting it trimmed since I’ve been trying to grow it out for years. Basically, after I moved to Amherst for one intolerable semester at UMASS, I finally decided to cut my hair extremely short, which I had always wanted to do but never had the balls to disobey my father’s wish of Lady Godiva length locks. I’ve been trying to grow it back ever since (talk about Karma).
I really didn’t want to cut off much at all, just a trim for the ends is all I hoped for. My hairdresser asks me what I want to do, and then blatantly disregards my requests. Does anyone else feel intimidated by a service provider whom the see regularly?
My hairdresser is a very good looking Russian guy and I don’t have the where-with-all to fight back, mostly because I spend the entire time in the chair being preoccupied with whether he is focusing on my bald spot, a rather large dent in the back of my head, a small lump at the top of my crown, or a case of psoriasis I have never quite been able to kick.
Usually by the time my insecurities reach their peak potency, the length of my hair is a non-issue. Not like it matters since my hair is so curly it looks the same no matter what is done with it.
