From the pits of despair

So there I was, a freelance deliveryman navigating the hilly labyrinth of a college town, where every road looks like a brainteaser and every address is a philosophical question. My GPS and I were on speaking terms again after a brief argument about the meaning of “recalculating,” and I found myself trudging up what could generously be described as a “modest incline” to deliver the Holy Grail of college sustenance—a meal in a bag.

At the zenith of this mini-Everest was the house—a charming little number that looked like it had been designed by someone who thought straight lines were too mainstream. Swinging leisurely on the porch hammock was my customer of the hour, a young woman whose excitement at the sight of food could have powered a small liberal arts symposium.

“Yay!” she beamed, throwing her arms up in the kind of enthusiastic greeting usually reserved for astronauts returning from space or people who find out their favorite show isn’t cancelled. It was a picture-perfect moment, except for the unexpected guest stars of the scene: her gloriously unshaven armpits. It was like each pit was staging its own protest, championing the cause of naturalism in a world smothered by the tyranny of razors.

Now, I’m a “live and let live” kind of guy. Fly your freak flag high, I say. Life is short.

But for a moment, my brain did the mental equivalent of a Windows error sound. It’s not every day you get a greeting framed by enthusiastic underarm hair. I blinked, the universe continued unabated, and I handed over her food with a smile plastered on my face that was part genuine, part ‘please don’t notice I noticed.’

“Thank you for your business!” I chirped, the words tumbling out in the overly cheerful tone I reserve for moments of mild shock or when I accidentally walk into the women’s bathroom.

As I made my retreat, marching back down the hill, her happy, “Enjoy your day!” followed me, flung out with the carefree abandon of someone who truly embraced the “you do you” lifestyle. And honestly? Power to her. While my traditional sensibilities had taken a brief pause, the encounter was a vivid reminder that life’s rich tapestry includes all sorts, even those who treat personal grooming like it’s optional coursework.

But let me tell you, the next time I see armpits hailed in public with such unabashed pride, I’ll be ready. Or at least, I won’t glitch quite as hard. Fly your freak flag, indeed.