Old spice is my new spice.

Over Thanksgiving break, I found man deodorant amongst my sister's belongings.
"Why do you have this?" I asked her.
She said that it was hers, and no, it did not belong to one of her dinky hormonal teenage boy admirers, and no, it was not given to her as some kind of strange symbol of love. Then she told me man deodorant works better than woman deodorant.
"Plus it smells good," she said. "Try it. All of my friends on my volleyball team use man deodorant, too."
I smelled it. It did smell good. I put it on. It did work good.
So yesterday at Smith's, I bought myself a stick of Old Spice deodorant in the Fiji scent, which, according to the sticker, smells like "palm trees, sunshine, and freedom."
I'd say that's a pretty accurate description.
But today is my first day of wearing it and I don't know how I feel about it. I keep being attracted to my own scent, which is weird. But it works like a dream. There's no denying that.
I guess it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. I'll smell like a man so I won't sweat like one.