Armpits, Niagara Falls, and the Calamity of my Teenage Years

My trusty jacket and the freedoms it provided me...look at me rockin' out with my pits out.

[fb_button]Back in the day, when I used to blog daily, I would just start writing and stuff would come out of my brain and onto the screen and I would hit “publish” and that would be that. Now, after many years of getting REALLY good at being an over-thinker, I stare at the screen a lot more than I put words on it. Today I am trying my old technique.

I’m sitting in a café in a community centre while my family swims. In front of me, a table of teenagers sits and chats, the couples awkwardly holding hands with one another under the table. Gosh I remember how important that interlocked hand hold used to feel. It makes you feel so grown up, so important, so…sweaty.

My sweaty palms weren’t my only moist affliction, my armpits were Niagara Falls. I remember sitting in class, feeling the drips roll down the sides of my torso. I wore the same jacket all day every day to hide the train wreck that was sure to drop my social status from “mostly a loser” to something terribly worse. If, for some ghastly reason, I was without my trusty jacket, I would clamp my arms to my sides as tight as I could so no one could see the lagoon being soaked up by my T-shirt. Except that made it way worse, but I really had no choice. In class, I would try to inconspicuously air them out a bit, which probably wasn’t a low-key as I thought and most likely added to my awkwardness.

My trusty jacket and the freedoms it provided me…look at me rockin’ out with my armpits out. Faces hidden to absolve people of the embarrassment they now feel for hanging out with me back then.

I used to have to use this awful antiperspirant that you put on at night and it feels like someone is repeatedly poking you with tiny daggers. I showed my mom the tragedy happening in my armpits everyday and she promptly took me to the doctor, who recommended it. This torture liquid basically saved my life…except I’m pretty sure it also made me way more susceptible to armpit cancer…and palm cancer…but those are the prices we pay to keep our “mostly a loser” status.

Enthusiastically unaware. Thankfully this was just a tiny armpit-squirt. Note my ironic T-shirt…kids these days think they came up with this stuff…

So this is what we get when I have no planned blog material. You’re welcome…or I am sorry. Pick one.



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