1. pit stains: I’ve tried all the magical aluminum prescription deodorants in the world. I’m just a sweaty, unfeminine person. It’s okay. I make up for it with my sparkling personality.
2. buying feminine hygiene products: I mean, someone’s gotta let the pimply teenage drugstore clerk know that ladies do, truly, bleed out their uterine lining on a monthly basis.
3. my embarrassing lack of knowledge about current movies and TV: There’s literally nothing I want to do less than watching a midget in fur getting it on with the princess or whatever “Game of Thrones” is about. Plus, I like to think that it makes me look more intellectual when I say, “Oh, I’ve never seen ‘The Wire.’ I don’t really watch TV.” (This is a lie and a half. I just only watch mediocre sitcoms and “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives,” which is decidedly anti-intellectual and actually kind of embarrassing, especially since sometimes I start fantasizing about how fun it would be to go on a culinary tour of the Midwest with Guy Fieri in his convertible. What can I say? I’m a sucker for frosted tips.)
things that will indefinitely cause me existential worry:
1. holding babies: I got to hold my boss’s itty-bitty month-old infant last night. I tried to tell him that holding babies gives me an aneurysm, but he just laughed at me and told me that it isn’t that hard. Which it isn’t… but man, if I had dropped that baby, I would TOTALLY be fired. (I did not drop the baby, and there is photographic proof that I held it properly. I might have even managed to wipe the look of terror from my eyes for the length of the flash.)
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