FIRE!

Last year I was asked to give a presentation at an autism council meeting. I was worried about what I was going to say, how it might be perceived, and whether or not I should have had my bangs cut with the trim and highlight the day before. That morning, as I went to pick out a blouse to wear, I made sure to choose one that wouldn’t show sweat rings under the armpits. Because even when I wear Sean’s deodorant, I get nervous, nervous tells my sweat glands there’s a fire somewhere - usually under the armpits, and, well, it turns on the high pressure water valve.

I’m always obsessively careful to keep my arms close to my body when presenting, but once in awhile, if I need to refer to something on the screen, or if I get excited when I talk, my arms might fly up like they’ve come unhinged. I usually slap them back down to my sides biting my lip as I wonder who may have seen my sweaty pits. Sometimes if I’m really nervous, I might even ask if anyone happened to see.

The morning of the presentation, I finally find the perfect sweat-camouflaging blouse. I grab my materials and dash out the front door. Jammed in early morning traffic on northbound 1-15 into Salt Lake City, I immediately regret spending 15 minutes conceding to Bobby Banjo’s* pleas to help him find “the guy with the sword,” and “the purple crystal” and “two more red pieces that look just like this” in the lego box that contains 100,000 micro pieces.

Suddenly, I’m hit with the thought that I might be late. Nervous tells my sweat glands there’s a fire under my armpits. And once I realize I forgot to put on my deodorant, Nervous tells my sweat glands under my armpits that it’s a THREE ALARM FIRE! Nervous also turns on other sprinklers in other places where I didn’t even realize I had sprinklers.

As I fly into the meeting I absolutely wish I hadn’t gulped down a slim fast chocolate shake for breakfast because it really didn’t taste that good anyway, and now I have to make an emergency restroom visit. I slide into the closest stall, and I fumble with my binder wondering why they refuse to install shelves on the stall walls. I gently balance my binder on the top of the toilet paper holder then fumble with my safety pin that keeps the zipper up on my favorite pants. My elbow flies up and hits my binder knocking two of my papers into the toilet. Before I can say &@#! the automatic flusher does it’s job and whoosh that’s it! Nervous tells my sweat glands forget the three-alarm fire, it’s a FIRE STORM! Send all the trucks and hook ‘em up! Full pressure and sirens!

I manage to make my way out of the restroom and up to the podium just in time. My armpits are stuck to my sides. I’m careful not to get excited, and I deliver my presentation as planned.

On the drive home I can’t help but laugh at a situation I should never have been in. In worrying so much about my sweaty armpits, I forgot the single most helpful thing to prevent it!

How often in life when in pursuit of something, do we worry so much about the end result, we actually forget to take those steps to get there!

I’ve been worrying lately about whether I should or shouldn’t do it. And I can’t tell you what “it” is because you already know silly things like my husband replaced the hubcap on our hooptie when we really should have gotten the neon lights and hydraulics instead. But when a friend quotes Wayne Gretzky, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take," I know what it is I have to do.

I’m now going to go put on my super strength deodorant and go for it.



*If you’re wondering, who is Bobby Banjo, please refer to post “Bobby Banjo Strikes a Chord.”