An Open Letter to Boob Sweat
Dear Boob Sweat,
You really are a tricky, little wench aren’t you? For years, I’ve had some good laughs at the women who dared not leave the house with a little powder in their cleavage. I thanked God that I would never be one of them. You weren’t going to catch me out here with an ashy cleavage partly because it looked crazy (read: hood) and also because I really don’t have a cleavage to speak of. Being less endowed in the boob department, the only way I would ever have cleavage would be by pushing my breasts together with my triceps. And who can hold that position for long periods of time? I call the area where my cleavage should be, “the Barren Land.” There’s nothing there but my sternum. So imagine my surprise last week when I found that water, aka perspiration, had come to the barren land. It was you boob sweat! (Cue villain noise here.)
Being that this was our first introduction, I would imagine that you would have made a better first impression. But, (and this is where the story gets gross, clutch your pearls if you must) after I slid my finger down my shirt to wipe you away, I noticed there was a very faint, musty smell that lingered in the air. At first, I couldn’t believe it. Certainly, that smell couldn’t have been coming from me. I’d just taken a shower! But a second swipe confirmed my fears. How could this be? How could I have boob sweat when my breasts barely speak to each other? I hit the sink to dab away the sweat and the odor. But as I dabbed, I thought, what does this boob sweat mean for my life? Was I going to become one of the powder ladies I’d made fun of? Would I be able to wear barren-land baring shirts in the summer?
I didn’t come up with a solution until later in the week. I was standing in the bathroom mirror, fresh out the shower. I opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out my deodorant/antiperspirant. I applied my customary (and excessive) six swipes to each pit. Just as I was about to recap, I looked down at my antiperspirant and had a brilliant idea, Put some deodorant on the barren land. I literally smiled at my genius. This is just what I needed, the perfect solution. I’d keep you away, boob sweat and since it goes on clear, I’d completely avoid the powder marks. I wore a low-cut shirt just to test the theory. And sure enough, when I got to work, there was no sweat and no must. Score!
I’m onto your game boob sweat. I know you thought you could use my mistaken smugness against me, that your sneak attack would get the best of me. I was unprepared and unarmed then. But now that I’m onto your game, I know which weapons to use against your trickery. You may have won the battle; but the war, boob sweat, is all mine.
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