After I walked my daughter to her preschool class this morning, I realized that I had forgotten to put on deodorant when I had gotten dressed for the day. I’m sort of a paranoid freak about deodorant. I mean, I’m sort of a paranoid freak in general, but particularly so when it comes to deodorant.
It’s not that I have super heinous, high stench BO or anything. But I am terrified of someone having to smell my raw armpit. Aren’t you? If someone has to smell the odor from my armpit, I want them to smell the awesome coconut and cocoa butter aroma that my deodorant cooks up after being put to use. Not the stuff my body tries to pass off as a presentable scent.
Aside: I once had a teacher who never wore deodorant because she was sensitive to the smell of the chemicals in it. We were also forbidden to wear deodorant or any other product with a scent. While I am empathetic to the problems of others, it goes without saying that the class was miserable.
Anyway, with the aside aside, upon the discovery of lack of DO, I decided to grab for my emergency deodorant tube and apply it right smack dab in the middle of my daughter’s school’s parking lot. After all, that was safer than applying it while driving. It was also safer than applying it in the parking lot of my own school.
Hold on—you might be wondering why I have an emergency tube of deodorant. Aside from my aroma paranoia, I have a husband that will use my DO if his runs out. A husband with armpit hair. When he uses my DO, he accidentally, but maybe on purpose, leaves stray armpit hairs on it. Which is not only TMI and super gross, but it renders my deodorant useless. I can’t use it after the discovery of a stray pit hair. So until I get a new tube for inside, I have to use my emergency tube.
Back to business …
The only real problem with applying deodorant in a parking lot, particularly the one at my daughter’s school, is that I live in a small town. The sort where if someone witnessed me applying my deodorant, it would be all over town. “Yeah, I saw Amanda putting on deodorant down at the preschool. When will she learn?”
“Have you seen Amanda lately?” “Oh, yeah, I totally saw her slapping DO for her BO down at the preschool. Freak!”
I mean, maybe they wouldn’t be that harsh. But it would be spoken of, frequently probably. Spoken of until one of my best friend’s grandmothers heard of it, and then they would call me to tell me about it. You get the picture.
Still, chance of me being ratted out aside, I had to apply it. I could not go the rest of my day without deodorant, and at the time, the idea of applying it in a bathroom at school had not occurred to me. So I grabbed the emergency tube I keep in the glove compartment.
I looked around. I saw no one.
All stealth and ninja-like, I eased the tube up the sleeve of my shirt. I applied it to my left armpit. Eased the tube out.
I looked around again. I was still in the clear. So I eased the tube up the sleeve on my right side. Just as I began applying it, I looked over to the left. The car parked beside me had tinted windows. So tinted that as I begin slathering my deodorant on, I failed to notice a lady sitting in the passenger seat.
As I finished applying the deodorant, I noticed her silhouette against the tint. At the same time, she also decided it was time she let me know that she noticed me. So she rolled down her window and shook her septuageneric finger at me. It was an “I can’t believe you just applied deodorant in the parking lot of your child’s school” type of shake.
