I was experimenting with different antiperspirant deodorants because I was unhappy with the old powder from Mennen (Speed Stick for men – “fresh scent”). Even if I applied it after dressing I would leave a white, oily residue on the underarm of the garment I was wearing. I practiced differently engineered attacks to the area needing deodorizing and anti-perspiring. But I always managed to stain the underarms of all my clothing, especially dry-clean-only stuff. So I did something I thought I would never do because I didn’t want its “lovely scent” -- oh! so-o-o-o girly -- anonymously chosen for me (I rejected it outright years ago): I bought Lady Speed Stick gel. Eewww!
I found that the scent wasn’t overpowering. I didn’t feel I was leading with a bouquet of flowers whenever I entered a room. But I had to change my order of dress: instead of putting the deodorant on after dressing, I applied it well ahead of time to be sure my armpits were dry before I put on a shirt. That was a rough transition. Occasionally I would forget that I hadn’t put the deodorant on by the time I was dressed, so I would have to apply the gel afterward. This made me stick to my shirt for a while because I had left a trail of gel to my armpit as I attempted to guide it to the right place through my clothes. But pretty soon I trained myself to put the deodorant on first. This worked for a while, but because the Lady Speed Stick gel container was so small and contained so little actual deodorant, I ran out in like a week. And I couldn’t find a larger size. It was like not only did Mennen think women liked sickly-sweet and sticky deodorant, but they also thought women used so little of it that they didn’t need to package it in containers that held more than an ounce.
I decided to look for a third alternative, willing to go back to the “man’s” deodorant stick if I had to. Then I found a Lady Speed Stick in an “invisible dry” powder formula with a “Shower Fresh” scent. “Sounds innocuous,” I thought. It even came in a size nearly twice that of the gel. Now I changed my order of dress back again, putting the deodorant on after my clothes. I had my doubts at first how invisible it was. Looked solid white to me – I could see it clearly at the end of the applicator. I didn’t want to take a chance that this powder, despite its miraculous yet plain to see “invisibility,” would come off on my clothes if I applied it first. It smelled OK and worked fine and I was happy. Then I got confused. One day after dressing I completely forgot to put on the powder. As I went through my daily routine, I smelled something stale, but thought it was the house. It was closed up now for the winter and always smelled a little more “used” than in the warmer months. It certainly couldn’t be me because I definitely applied my deordorant. So what if it was invisible? I knew it was there. I happily went off to my Pilates class in my cool, sleeveless gym shirt. It wasn’t until I took off my jacket to begin Pilates that I realized the stale smell was me. Not only stale, but now, stinky. Oops. But I used my deordorant. I definitely applied it BEFORE dressing. Oh, wait. I switched back to applying it after dressing when I started using the new invisible dry powder. Crap.
The non-deodorized state of my body dawned on my conscious mind too late. I was just about to begin a full hour of Pilates and, because I was the only one who showed up for class (it was the week between xmas and new year’s) it would just be me and the instructor. How lucky could she get? There was no way she would not notice my odor. I mean, if I could smell it, she could. That’s what they say, right? You never notice your own odor before someone else does. So, I bit the bullet. “I forgot to put on my deodorant today. I am so sorry,” I told her. She just shrugged and said it was Ok. Did I dodge a bullet by apologizing? Or did I just admit to something she might not have noticed if I hadn’t pointed it out? I then realized I would never know. That cat was out of the bag, either way.
I humbly kept my arms down as much as possible during the session, but it was tough. We began with the part of the abdominal series in which you lie down with your arms straight up in the air. You bring your arms down level with the floor as you keep your shoulders down and your abs engaged and then back up again. I felt I was flapping my odor all over the room. And when it came time to do the balance series and I had to keep my arms out to keep from falling over, I was sweating as much from nerves as I was from the physical exertion of Pilates. As soon as I was done though, my arms came down so swiftly you could feel a somewhat acrid breeze blow threw the room. Now I really understood the meaning of invisible deodorant. And then to add insult to injury, the instructor wanted me to do the complete mat ab series, during which you must put your hands behind your head, armpits flaunted, for the entire series. Was she a masochist? But gym instructors, coaches, and Pilates and Yoga teachers, as well as doctors, dentists, and massage therapists, must deal with personal body odor all the time. I mean other peoples’. That’s what they get paid for, right?
Well, I’ll know the extent of the damage next week when I arrive for class and my instructor has a gas mask over her face…. Hope it is an invisible one.
I woke up early this morning and noticed that the cat was not sleeping with me. I sensed that I had laid still for quite a while, subconsciously believing in my sleep that the heavy weight of Eva was still resting on my legs. When I woke up enough to realize that my legs only held the memory of the sleeping cat, I sighed with relief and rolled over, nestling into the pillow for another snooze before I got up. I adjusted my head pushing it back a little to give myself more pillow to fluff and roll under my head. Then I heard a tiny “oof!” Without turning my head, I realized that I had located the cat: she was sleeping on my pillow behind my head. Hey! That’s kind of cool, I thought. I had disturbed her, however. She had to adjust herself. After several weight shiftings and flannel sheet rustlings, Eva finally resettled – on my head! I felt the warmth of her noggin on top of mine and her warm purr filling my ears. I would have laughed, but I didn’t want to disturb her angelic slumber. So much for mine. I think I dozed eventually, but never really fell back to sleep. I mean, how could I? I had to be a pillow to an Eva. It’s one thing when she is sleeping on my legs. They eventually just go numb and I can’t move them without the stab! stab! of a dozen tiny needles. But I never realized before how often I like to shift my head on the pillow as I’m lying there. This was a real study in stillness. Be the pillow, Ellen! Be the Pillow!
My study was interrupted when the cat abruptly left. I guess I have more to learn about head stillness. Just one of many deeply spiritual experiences that I would never have if I didn’t have cats.