The Boys Are Dead, Long Live the Boys!

My fabulous brother, Jimmy, was a late bloomer. He grew almost a foot in college {the amount of food consumed during that time was alarming. Seriously, it was enough to make one long for a daughter with anorexia} and he finally got a beard and underarm hair (he was SO excited about this. Seriously, this was apparently quite the right of passage for him. He called his underarm hair "the boys." Odd but totally true} Now stay with me. I know that this sounds like way too much information (which it totally is) but it is important for the story later on. Trust me on this one.


So, I am a senior in college and Jimmy is a freshman at a different college. I am up for some awards and I invite my mom and brother to the dinner. Because my family loves me, they agree to spend their Tuesday night eating bad chicken and watching me walk briefly across a stage. Jimmy stops en route at my mom's house to take a shower (his car was a p.o.s. and did not have air conditioning. In Texas. In May.) So, he takes a shower and gets ready at Mom's and off they go to meet me.


By the time they get to the dinner, Jimmy is sweating. Not perspiring, certainly not glowing but "oh-dear-gawd-are-you-stroking-out-sweating." It is especially bad under his arms. He has actual sweat marks/circles under them. As in I-am-a-50-year-old-obese-man-mowing-my-lawn-while-smoking-a-cigar sweat stains. Now, he is warm-natured and it is May in Texas but this is insanity.


And, like the champ that he is, he is trying so hard to be nonchalant about it. Finally, he leans over to me during dinner and says "I swear my pits are on fire." Jimmy, like all members of my family, has a ridiculously high tolerance for pain so to hear him complain ever is scary. Much less complain during an event that is all about me. So, I know he is suffering. {Well, the look of angst and pain gave it away also. I am terribly, terribly clever when it comes to detecting this kind of thing}.


I ask him if he has changed deodorant, soap, etc. Nope. Then he says that he got ready at Mom's house. Immediately, I fear the worst. "Did you use Mom's deodorant?" "Yeah, I know it is gross but why?"


"Oh God, was it a pink roll on?"

Now he is starting to panic. "Yeah, why?"


"That was not deodorant, it was Nair."

"What the fuck is Nair and am I going to die?"

"It is a hair remover that you leave on for 5 minutes."

"SHIT!" and off he runs to the bathroom. At this point, he has had it on for close to three hours. That has got to hurt like a mother. We are talking about, essentially, a chemical burn.


He comes back from the bathroom, wet and completely dejected. "The boys are gone. All I have in their place are blisters. But the boys are completely gone."


After note: they did eventually come back and now he is a hairy monster according to his daughters so all is well. He did learn the lesson not to blindly use other people's toiletries.