Sweaty Betty

When I was younger I rarely sweated under my arms. The few times I did due to extreme circumstances, such as being stuck in traffic on a very hot day in a car without air-conditioning, my sweat never seemed to smell. Not to me. Not to other people. I know, this comes perilously close to “my sh*t doesn’t stink” but that’s not what I’m saying here. I’m not sure why my sweat didn’t stink, maybe I was born under a lucky sweat star. Even though puberty bestowed all of its other gifts on me, stinky sweat was not in the mix. The hot flashes and night sweats of menopause also passed me by. Recently I turned 66. I still rarely sweat, but now when I do it smells horrible. It’s as if sweat puberty finally caught up to me. I can barely stand to smell myself when this happens. The other day I took the bus from the town I now live in to meet my son and his girlfriend, who were visiting from out of town, for lunch in the town where he grew up. After lunch they went off on their own so he could show her scenes from his childhood. I walked around to kill time until we would meet up again for dinner. It was a very hot day. I took a break and sat in front of the co-op drinking a coconut water. Suddenly I smelled something rank. I figured it was rotten fruit or a small dead animal. Nope, it was me. I was appalled. If I could smell myself that easily the smell must have been overwhelming to anyone who walked by me. The easy fix would be to go to the restroom and soap up my underarms, rinse, and pat them dry. I couldn’t do this because I have a topical reaction to most restroom hand washes. Suddenly I thought of baby wipes. I reasoned they should be able to handle my smelly pits since they are designed to clean up sh*t. I went into the store and bought a natural brand of baby wipes without the chemicals that make my skin unhappy. One wipe for each pit and I smelled lovely again. There were so many wipes in the package and I didn’t want to carry them in my bag. I bought two of those newfangled, non-cancer causing, you can freeze them and boil them in water, plastic, snack-sized bags. I filled each with wipes. One for me and one for my son and his girlfriend to use while traveling. There were still so many wipes left. I walked through town wondering what to do with them when I saw a homeless couple sitting on the pavement. Their feet were really dirty. I didn’t want to be disrespectful so I approached them and said, “I have something odd to offer you…” The baby wipes were in my hand. Before I could say “baby wipes” the man reached out and took them and said, “Thank you, ma’am!” He was so grateful and also totally filled with dignity. This was in stark contrast to how many of my young friends were upset with me when puberty made their sweat stink but not mine. They acted as if I had done something mean or rude to them. The same thing happened with some women acquaintances who took it very personally when I told them I had never had a hot flash. I smiled at the homeless man and walked on.