Dirty Salsera.

21 Nov

The basic premise of all personal hygiene is that we find our natural God-given state to be somewhat repulsive, and if we find ourselves repulsive, just imagine what others must think. My search for a perfect dance partner begins first, then, with the search for a salsera who finds her natural state to be slightly more repulsive than I find my own, thus driving her to pursue a slightly better habit of personal hygiene. I think I’m dirty, so I clean myself. She must really think she’s dirty, so she cleans herself and wears perfume and make-up.

We all have grossness that consumes our attention. For me, I seem to fixate on one grossness at a time, rotating fixations by some unpredictable, but at the same time, oddly regular, schedule. One month, it may be skin care and imagined spots of acne. Another month, it may be the state and rate of growth of my body hair. This month, the fixation is on oral hygiene, and the specific grossness that is consuming my attention these days are my tonsillar crypts », which, in and of themselves, are not gross, but every now and then, they produce a crop of tonsil stones », which are little wonders of grossness, like calcified boogers of the throat.

For every grossness, there seems to be a need to self-torture, self-flagellate, to self-inflict pain. A small irregularity on my cheek will cause me to pick at it, and pick at it, until it is a well-pronounced and understandably-mad red blemish. Unfortunate strands of hair will be mercilously picked at and sheared by the sharp triple-edge of my razor. Are 3 blades really better than 2? And for my tonsillar crypts, I have discovered the wonderfully- and perversely-named tool called the Waterpik, with which I mercilously pik, the fury of a focused jet of water at my fingertips. Sanitize that!

Sometimes I find myself dancing with a salsera, who must obviously find her natural state to be less-repulsive than I find my own. Salsera with armpit hair, anyone? Sometimes it is less obvious, and I can only smell the difference up close. Being a somewhat open-minded salsa gigolo, during such a dance, I let myself give-in to this contact with salsera grossness, much as one need give-in to one’s sweat. I actually enjoyed dancing with that salsera with armpit hair, and I must be forgiven if I treated her to a less-than-normal amount of eye-to-eye contact, and more-than-normal amount of eye-to-armpit contact. Really, I think salseras should shave their armpits less often.

Another particular foray into grossness ended on a pleasant note, with a smelly salsera kissing me, and then coming back for more. Evidently, my oral self-flagellations are working, or else, she is as open-minded about my grossness as I am about hers, and she was giving-in to a bit of my grossness, so she could help herself to my salsa gigolomojo. And her smelliness during the dances? I gave into it, and just let myself enjoy her particular bit of grossness. Giving-in to a salsera’s grossness, I am finding, is really kind of sexy.

So, maybe I’ve been going about this perfect partner search all wrong, and I should stop seeking perfection in a well-groomed, sweet-smelling, made-up salsera, who doesn’t sweat. Instead, I should seek-out a dirty, smelly, armpit-hairy salsera, who will sweat all over me.


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