Or rather, smell me coming.
What? Huh?
I am mutant. I believe this for many reasons, one of which I will share with you here.
I don't have extra toes, extra nipples, or extra Halloween candy stored above the stove which I dip into every morning before breakfast. (One of those may be a lie).
I don't turn green when I become enraged, although lately I have been very ragey/stabby, but I just mostly get sad. It's like the SADDEST Hulk-A-Stephanie you ever did see.
But I digress.
No, my mutant-status has been achieved through one thing: My Armpits. (Okay, fine, TWO THINGS, shaddap).
I have discovered that typically before I get to the end of my deodorant of choice, my armpits and sweat gland-y system have adapted and mutated to no longer respond to the anti-perspirant properties.
It's like how upper respiratory infections spread through animal shelters because the infection mutates faster than the antibiotics/antibodies. But with less cats and slightly less mucous.
If I am ever so lucky as to have SUCCESS WITH A DEODORANT! for a full container's worth, I swear-to-mother-effing-Jebus that it is, without a doubt, unquestionably and mysteriously aflavour smell blend perfume-y.thing formulation that has been DISCONTINUED by the manufacturer.
It's like my pits and Secret are out to get me. Orange jasmine? Check. Baby powder coconut caffeine? Check. Ylang ylang lavender concrete rose blossom? Tea tree antibiotic lemon zest candy cane-infused menthol? Check. Every fucking time.
I go to Walmart, Shopper's Drug Mart, the grocery store. NOTHING. I ask the clerks who give me a side glance and tell me to keep moving, that they never carried the deodorant in the first place.
Swear.To.Gahd.
Anyway, I have officially run out of new brands to try, so if you know me offline, you've been given fair warning.
Married and smelly.
That is all...
_______
Pin It Now!
What? Huh?
I am mutant. I believe this for many reasons, one of which I will share with you here.
I don't have extra toes, extra nipples, or extra Halloween candy stored above the stove which I dip into every morning before breakfast. (One of those may be a lie).
I don't turn green when I become enraged, although lately I have been very ragey/stabby, but I just mostly get sad. It's like the SADDEST Hulk-A-Stephanie you ever did see.
But I digress.
No, my mutant-status has been achieved through one thing: My Armpits. (Okay, fine, TWO THINGS, shaddap).
I have discovered that typically before I get to the end of my deodorant of choice, my armpits and sweat gland-y system have adapted and mutated to no longer respond to the anti-perspirant properties.
It's like how upper respiratory infections spread through animal shelters because the infection mutates faster than the antibiotics/antibodies. But with less cats and slightly less mucous.
If I am ever so lucky as to have SUCCESS WITH A DEODORANT! for a full container's worth, I swear-to-mother-effing-Jebus that it is, without a doubt, unquestionably and mysteriously a
 |
| With less enthusiasm & facial hair, but definitely more muffin top. Via |
It's like my pits and Secret are out to get me. Orange jasmine? Check. Baby powder coconut caffeine? Check. Ylang ylang lavender concrete rose blossom? Tea tree antibiotic lemon zest candy cane-infused menthol? Check. Every fucking time.
I go to Walmart, Shopper's Drug Mart, the grocery store. NOTHING. I ask the clerks who give me a side glance and tell me to keep moving, that they never carried the deodorant in the first place.
Swear.To.Gahd.
Anyway, I have officially run out of new brands to try, so if you know me offline, you've been given fair warning.
Married and smelly.
That is all...
_______