Well, no sooner did I declare my intention to Live Healthily and Coat My Underarms in Nature’s Sweetness Only than I spent the next three days eating dinners consisting of either Cheez-Its and Froot Loops or Trader Joe’s buffalo wings. You, like most everyone I know, may already have been suspicious of any grand pronouncements I make, but if you weren’t: SUCKAH!
Back on the wagon as of tomorrow, however, EXCEPT FOR THE DEODORANT.
It’s all well and good for work, I guess, but if you’ll remember, my need for aluminum-free pits came second to my desire to instigate a torrid affair, and I have discovered that the two Do Not Mix.
Imagine my horror, engaging in some perfectly innocent kissing this evening when a whiff of, oh, hang on a sec, what is that, OMG, it’s MY OWN BODY ODOR, hit me. Jeebus.
Hello, my sweet little Dove. I love you, I want you back, please forgive me. Real Beauty may come in many colors and sizes, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t come in Stank.
Also, have you seen that horrible Billy Crystal vehicle, Forget Paris? One of the few incredibly funny moments in that scene is when poor Ellen (Debra Winger) is driving Mickey (BC)’s geezery dad around town and he’s droning out very single road sign he sees, Wannamaker’s Tires, Benny’s Donuts, etc., not realizing he’s doing it and driving Ellen to hari kari.
Um, I have a similar tendency. Sometimes I’ll have a thought in my head and say it out loud and not realize I did it, and then, two minutes later, I’ll realize, oh hey, I wanted to say that thought out loud and then I’ll do so — and the person I’m with will look at me like I’m totally insane, like, yeah, you said that two minutes ago.
And it’s like a reflex! I cannot be stopped. If you drive me past a landmark that has a particular association with me, I will tell you about it. Even if I have told you 12 times before, one of which was two minutes ago when I first had the thought and said it out loud without realizing.
In Argentina, with The Boy, he once idly mentioned that he could get a haircut while we were there, and once he did, damn it if every time we saw a salon I didn’t say, “oh, you could get your haircut” — even after he told me, more than a little pointedly, that he had decided he didn’t want one. My little mind just couldn’t be rerouted: hair salon = hair cut for The Boy –> “oh, you could get your haircut.” It was horrible. Finally he told me I was giving him a complex and I was able to move on. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
I bring this up because in addition to smelling to high heaven this evening, I believe I also told my date twice: “this is the same street where I bought my flamenco shoes.” I thought it once, then unconsciously said it out loud because I have no filter, and then thought to myself, gee, wouldn’t he like to know this is where I bought my flamenco shoes, EVEN THOUGH I DON’T FLAMENCO, and told him again.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
If I am date-free again in two weeks, you’ll know the cause: because I’m really an eighty-year-old man with a slight case of dementia and a severe case of B.O.
Sunday Undies 