Lida’s fist and underarm are in a competition for the title of Queen of Stink, each endeavoring to produce the most offensive human smell.
The paw smells like a soccer cleat, while the underarm smells like a Parisian cab driver.
All that smashed together skin is never allowed to breathe, so it stays slightly damp, hangs out and makes some righteous stink.
Deodorant is no match for Lida’s pit.
Cleaning Lida’s hand requires another strong hand to hold her palm up and open, which leaves me with no option but to ask someone to scrub her funky palm.
Sometimes I get sick of asking for help, then my still creative mind goes to work.
I have a small bottle brush for cleaning out Tabasco bottles. I load it with antibacterial hand soap slip it in the little space between my thumb and index finger and scrub away. I still have to get between fingers with a washcloth but, Lida’s hand is slick, clean and fresh.
The underarm is easier to deal with, I use a wet wipe as necessary. She continues to show out but I can deal with it.
Some people even like that smell. A guy standing near me at a bakery the other day told me I gave him a flashback. It could’ve been the patchouli soap I use or it could’ve been the combo of BO and patchouli that took him back to his old hippy days.
I took it as a compliment anyway