Over Thanksgiving Hubs and I spent a large majority of our time drinking with family.
Which is fine.
Until I drink too much and start remembering things about myself that no one a) wants to hear or b) wants to picture.
So I share them with you.
The conversation that sparked this memory was my sister-in-law and I discussing some of our more unflattering fashion looks during our formative years. She recalled jelly shoes, I recalled bodysuits.
Do you remember? They looked like this, but mine were uglier.
Back in 1996, I loved me some bodysuits. Laugh all you want, but Beyonce still wears them, so they must not be so bad. See?
One Christmas (during I believe 8th grade), I received the ultimate gift. A brand new plum bodysuit with a pair of overalls.
Despite my un-dying love for the
unitard bodysuit apparatus, I did have one problem when it came to wearing them in school. As a young, hormonal teenager, I had a...sweating problem.
Whatever, you did too, admit it.
Seriously, I had the glands of Michael Jordan after four quarters and a mile sprint. It just wasn't fair. I tried everything to get it under control. (And by everything I mean I Teen Spirit and Suave antiperspirant deodorant.)
Nothing seemed to work. I would bring stashes of deodorant and corral them in my locker and back pack, secretly re-applying nearly every chance I got. I was a sweaty girl to deodorant like a fat kid is to candy.
Making things worse were my raging hormones, which would kick into full gear whenever I was around a boy I was particularly fond of. (And in 8th grade, you're fond of nearly every guy who doesn't kick you in the ass when you pass him in the hall.) In other words, people, I sweat a lot. And sometimes it didn't smell so nice.
So...there I am, the first day of school after Christmas. I dress in my plum body suit, my overalls, and gigantic yellow contractor-style boots. (Like these.)
When I arrived at school that morning, I was convinced this was going to be the best day ever. Not only did I look rockin' in my overalls, but my body suit beneath it was nice and tight; the boys couldn't help but notice my rockin' curves.
(Of course, at the time I was unaware that tight clothes tend to keep the body nice and warm.)
And then it hit me.
I. Forgot. Deodorant.
Immediately my body went into panic. Which made me sweat. Then I remembered a test I had to take later that afternoon. Which made me sweat. Then I saw the boy of my dreams across the commons area.
I vaguely remember anything about that day except for many frequent trips to the restroom to mop up the land of 10,000 lakes I had going on in my arm pits.
For last period started, I(gently)raced from my locker straight to my seat and planted myself there, determined not to breathe, worry, stress, get excited or look at any cute boys.
It seemed to be working, and the period went quickly. However, last period also happened to be my computer class.
So...lots of CPU's and printers, in the room, running all day long.
The room got hot. And hotter.
And so did I.
You know that feeling when you get out of the shower and put on a shirt too fast, and the wetness immediately seeps into your clothes? Take that, multiply it by a million, and add a pair of warmth preserving overalls.
I was a hot mess. Literally.
When the end of class approached, my classmates packed up early and crammed in next to the door, willing the bell to ring a few minutes early. I couldn't risk drawing attention to myself by staying in my seat, so I too packed up my bag and stood by the door.
Smooshed like sardines.
With only one minute left to go, I thought I had escaped the day unscathed.
Suddenly a boy in my class known for being rude, loud and generally unpleasant, proclaimed loudly, "What is that SMELL?" Immediately everyone began looking around, trying to locate the offensive odor. I too, awkwardly looked at my other classmates, praying to God that someone had let out a horrific fart.
Alas, I felt the Mean Boy's eyes land on me. In his defense, he was probably just wanting to stare at my boobs. Naturally though, the giant burgundy stains growing exponentinally by the second beneath my arms swiftly tore his attention from my boobies.
His eyebrows shot to the top of his pimply face as he loudly shouted, "OH MY GOD, it's KIM! Did you forget your-"
Apparently there is a God, because at that moment the final bell rang, and Mean Boy's desire to expose me to the whole class was washed away with thoughts of after-school Nintendo and freezer burnt pizza rolls.
(Thank heaven men are like dogs and can only concentrate on one thing at a time.)
To this day, though I no longer have a horrific sweating problem, but I still use the strongest deodorant money can buy. And then some.
And I'll never wear a bodysuit again.
(Unless I look as good as Beyonce.)