It's those Arid Extra Dry commercials. They're driving me nuts. You know the ones; if you even own a television, you've seen them. Some aging Young Republican pontificates on the importance of women being un-damp. Y'know, when they're close. Then, of course, we're fed the distaff view from some former Tri-Delt...that it doesn't matter how cute a guy is, if he smells, well, that's icky.

Alternating shots, then, of Skip and Buffy as they share their innermost odor fears and anti-perspiration dreams. It seems quite clear from the onset that they've never, either of them, revealed these thoughts to another human being before. This is new ground for them, uncharted emotional waters, fools rushing in where even Freud would fear to tread. But I can't help asking myself, what brought this up? Under what pretense were these two people conned into spilling their most private hygiene beans? I mean, we're in their homes, it's obviously the weekend because these are clearly two successful young people whom, on a weekday, would never have time for such introspection. There are bonds to be sold, after all, deals to be brokered, mortgages to be foreclosed. Who has time on a weekday to talk about odorous, moist pits?

No, these folks gave up their Saturday and allowed...who? A documentarian? A man-on-the-street-type reporter? A pollster? to bring in a camera crew and probe their psyches, to cut through their facades, the masks we all wear, the pretense and get right down to the heart of the matter: these people prefer their significant others, their lovers, their life partners dry and sweet-smelling and damn, it feels good to get that off your chest, doesn't it? These fine young Americans no doubt feel as if a huge weight has been lifted from their shoulders! No more will they keep their preferences hidden! Their secret is out and they feel no shame! I fully believe that, once the call of "Cut! That's a take" is heard, these lucky individuals complete their coming-out, their metamorphosis, if you will, by running to their windows, throwing them open wide and announcing for all to hear,"I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to date stinky, sweaty people anymore!" After which they fall, limp and weeping, into the arms of their liberator, the unseen inquisitor, proclaiming their undying gratitude to him/her. And that, my friends, is the scene that I want to see in those commercials.

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