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Sunday, July 15, 2007

Dear Harris Teeter:

You really need to carry this astounding product?

Sincerely, when the Secret people come around, do you ever even ask them what on earth "mystic rain" is? Do you ask them what on God's green earth it has to do with the 1970s, afros, independence, and, you know, ARMPITS?

Because I have to tell you, I grew up during the 70s, and the predominant body smell of the 1970s that I remember, beyond Jean Nate, is baby oil. Ah, yes, baby oil, that sweet smell of summer in the 70s.

Our babysitter's name was Ann. Her father was an astronaut, but although he went to the moon, HE NEVER GOT OUT EVEN THOUGH HIS TWO COHORTS DID. That still seems like a ripoff to me. Anyway, Ann used to oil herself up and lay out on the dock in Maine while I tried to catch flounder with a line that wrapped around a wooden square. When we sold the cottage, I left it on the living room bookshelf. I wonder if it's still there.

What? You want to know what this has to do with the deodorant? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You know, just like the 70s and psychic blizzards and what-have-you.

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