Sing Along

Sound bite: Do you recall a certain tune by Nick Gilder and Time Machine? I forget if I can post the band and/or song name . . . either way their hit anthem surely summarizes today. Insert music and lyrics here. (she sighs and then wipes wipes her forehead with a "phew" . . . because it's a genius piece of music and mercury is rising).

I used the temperature setting on my camera, it's a lot like hyper color fashion. Remember hyper color? I never understood the idea. Mood rings I get, "ooh look it's black, I'm so very vexed" or "hey, when I'm with you it turns green . . . " But clothing? I don't know about all homosapiens, but sweating, glowing if you will, seems to be a natural process. Nevertheless, in this American culture it has yet to be embraced and exonerated. Perspiring has gained poor status as a such amajor issue of hygiene, of popularity and sadly, nature, that products are marketed to all stinky folk promising they'll erase any offensive odors and rid said customer of potential ridicule and embarrassment. Women and men alike douse themselves in perfume, even scents for our homes and furniture are readily available for purchase. So, why then, did anyone ever think it appropriate to showcase on our corporal forms, like Vegas billboards, "hey, my shirt changed color under my arms and above my hip . . . from sweat!" Frightening, really.

My friend Dan thinks perfume is offensive and antiperspirants unnatural. He doesn't wear deodorant. Once I commented, with furrowed brow, on his odoriferous presence and he assured me that I would grow to like, even love his most primal odor. Anyone who dared argue with Dan was strategically put in their place via one remarkably understandable and poignant dilemma. Simply stated, "how is my smell any better or worse than an eighty plus year old woman who practically bathes in the most offensive of Eau du Toilet." Every time I hug sweet Dan, I remember being smothered by my Grandma (Mimi, I love you, RIP . . . ) and recall the odd combination of strong designer perfume coupled with a hint of clothes freed from a forgotten cedar closet bugged with mothballs for too long. It's then that I hold Dan just a little tighter.

Hope you're enjoying this warm summer day. And maybe it'll turn into a hot summer night for you too. Don't sweat the small stuff . . .