Right Guard

Phone rang at 6:40 a.m. Friday waking me out of fitful sinus headache sleep. I went stumbling about in the dark, but by the time I made it to the phone the voice mail had kicked in. The whole message was, "Hi, it's Mike." Now it makes sense. The phone rang one other morning this week at 5:52. I wondered all day about that.

This global time travel is still odd to me. The phone connections are much clearer than when my brother studied in England twenty-plus years ago.

One reason for Mike's call is the apparent lack of anti-perspirants in Italy. I tried to convince him it would be okay, that Europeans just aren't picky about body smells. My preconceived notions of Europe involve bad teeth, greasy hair, and sweaty people dressed in black sitting at outdoor cafes drinking wine all hours of the day, including 6:40 a.m. CDT. It doesn't sound all that bad, except for the greasy hair.

Mike patiently explained to me that although Europeans might not care about sweat-stained t-shirts, he is living and studying with a bunch of American kids, aka young adults. Americans obsess about sweat and body smells. Okay, I agreed, but maybe he could shop for deodorant when he goes to Prague this week. Surely Bohemians are more cognizant of the need for anti-perspirants! Surely that would be more cost-effective than his old mom mailing personal hygiene products around the globe. And don't call me Shirley.



Sometime in the night I woke up remembering how this condo used to smell like a locker room before it became an empty nest. This morning I put the Right Guard in the mail with the Customs declaration, "For Personal Use Only. No Commercial Value." I'm calling it one private citizen's international humanitarian relief effort. It should be tax-deductible.

I draw the line at mailing Lady Bic razors to Botticelli's Venus!