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Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Monday
Mar172008

When Deodorant is a Bad Thing.

The other day I wore a black T-shirt to work (incidentally, is it tee-shirt or T-shirt, what does the damn T mean? Is it a word or a letter?). There is a fellow at work, a sweet fellow, who makes it a habit of complimenting me. It started years ago and when I probably deserved the complimenting, you know, when I actually put some effort into how I looked at work. I figure he feels obligated to continue the complimenting even though there are much younger, more deserving girls.

Anyway, there he was, standing over my desk complimenting me. I was giggling like a loon, because, hey, let's face it, I need to take 'em where I can get 'em, when I saw his eyes zone in on something just below my chin. I assumed, as you do, that he was checking out my chest. I instinctively looked down as well to see what he was seeing. Oh, he was seeing something all right.

He was seeing the affects of an apparently handicapped individual slathering deodorant here, there, everywhere.

You know how it is. You swipe on the deodorant and throw on your shirt and if you're me, you go to work with deodorant from here to hell and back - all over your (of course it had to be black) shirt.

What does one say?

I went with "stupid bleach, ruined one of my favorite T-shirts."

Nice save, Monica. Spectacular.