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"Oops, I Did It Again"

25 March 2003

I decided it was time to get out the weed wacker and clear the brush under my arms. I had been letting everything grow in there since last fall, but with spring upon us sleeveless outfits are imminent. Plus, the French way of doing things is out of style at the moment.

So I'm back to smoothly shaven pits. Has it made any difference? It's too soon to tell. I seem to be sweating the usual amount. Odor is never much of a problem for me, so I can't tell the difference with that, at least not yet.

It was fortunate timing because I had another mega-sweat event at a doctor's office. Actually, it was at the lab where they draw blood for a blood test. The phlebotomist (yes, I'm showing off my techincal writing experience again) had trouble finding a vein, so she began to hunt and peck. Meanwhile I began to squirm and sweat.

Before long the lights began to dim and my head began to spin as I went into shock and began to faint. It's not the first time I've done this, and it won't be the last, but it's never fun. Sweat began to pour from my pits and my white blouse quickly went from normally damp under my arms to drenched.

Some nurses joined the commotion, and while I was half conscious I could hear one of them say, "Oh my, look at her blouse, she's soaked right through it." Meanwhile they worked to rouse me with cold towels, and I gradually came to.

When I was finally able to stand up and move from the chair to a place to lie down, I saw myself in a mirror. Boy, were they ever right about my blouse. Not only had the sweat sloshed down my sides, but my back was so soaked that the fabric had become translucent and was sticking to me. In fact, the only areas of dryness had the shape of my bra. I looked like a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest.

Once the shock passes, I usually recover fairly quickly, and that's what happened this time. Several of the nurses asked if I had another blouse in my car (no), so I dried the worst of the wetness with some paper towels. I was planning to return to the office, but my bra remained uncomfortably damp. After a moment of entertaining the idea of removing it and going braless, I reminded myself this was a white blouse. Sensibility got the better of me and I ended up detouring home to change.

Figuring out if shaving my pits has made a difference will have to wait for another day.

For prior stories, see the archives.