Machine Gun Armpits

Today, I spent 12 hours outside working with dirt, bricks, wires and concrete. The smells: grinding masonry blades, burning two-stroke engine fuel, sweat and lavender.

Ooh-la-la lavender, that is.

I’d like to thank the fine folks over at Secret for making a product that is both effective and pleasantly scented.

You see, hyperhydrosis (a condition where your sweat glands never chill out) is a pain. Underarm faucets on at the slightest hint of anxiety. When I was a substitute teacher, I’d spend my breaks in the faculty restrooms desperately positioning myself under the hand dryers. Then I’d walk back to class trying not to move in a manner that suggested I had brown paper towels stuffed under each arm.

My dad suggested I affix a maxi pad to the inside of my shirt (“It’s already got the tape on it!”).

Other than Secret Scent Expressions, the only thing that does the trick is prescription strength:

It pretty much feels like whiskey for your armpits, only without any of the fun.

Between that and Secret, today was dry as a bone.


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