The sweat differential conundrum

C'mere to me 'til I tell you.

You know how girls have two boobs and one of them, when studied carefully (insert joke here) is generally found to be a different size, or perhaps perched higher or swinging lower than the other? And how nipples often look in different directions as well, like lovers after a tiff?

You're probably also aware then, that men generally have one of their testicoolers sitting at a different, or slacker angle to its neighbour. Ears too; they're generally not symmetrical either, and if you had two noses, like, say, Barbara Streisand, you'd find slight disparities between those and all. So you see, every thing we have a pair of on our bodies seemingly just wants to be a little bit different from its sibling. It's like identical twins rebelling against parents for making them dress the same all the time.

Anyway, in a similar vein, you know what I noticed some time ago?

**Clears throat** Under normal climatic conditions, I only sweat properly out of one armpit!

Yep. The drama of it all. I've been sitting here typing away furiously on some fantabulous literary creation or other and while my right armpit is sodden, the left one is drier than a witch's diddy. How so?

Leaving aside the obvious health and fitness implications of typing causing me to break sweat - I'd be out of breath licking a stamp at this rate - this puzzles me, embarrasses me a little even. So I've sought the counsel of my learned friends, usually, now that I think of it, at weddings where one is most conscious of the dreaded sweaty pits. The old 'map of Africa' blotches on your shirt is never a good look, especially when there's theoretical hordes of eligible lovelorn ladies mooning about, all high on wedding palaver and rubbing their flanks and arching their eyebrows and running their tongue over their lips and oooooh phwoarrrrr oooooooh Betty oooohhhh......

Moving on however, one learned friend I turn to in times of crisis like these is The Good Doctor, an esteemed college professor pal. He moves in highly intellectual circles, debating daily, as he does, cerebral matters such as Freudian psychology applied to the sexual response of herrings, Pythagoras' theory applied to tent-pitching, and investigating where the other sock goes. However, he remains grounded amisdst this ever-churning sea of higher learning by openly supporting Manchester City and eating bacon fries as much as possible.

If you're not convinced by his credentials, and happy are those who have not seen and yet believe, allow me provide an example of the The Good Doctor's remarkable insight. For, it was he who first stated in a groundbreaking white paper circa 2006 that the closest male equivalent to the clucking of the female biological clock is where a bloke wakes up one day and finally realises that he is, alas, now too old to ever make it as a professional footballer.

That's how deep this guy runs, folks.

Naturally, with groundbreaking theories like this, when faced with my conunderarm conunderum, it was his advice I sought. He listened intently, then did some rough calculus and algebra type stuff for about twenty minutes before arriving at the conclusion that it was all due to me being right handed and therefore having a natural tendency to spray more deodorant under my left pit, neglecting just slightly my right one.

That sounded good to me, and content, I swabbed myself down with a baby wipe and thought no more of it.

Content, until today that is. For today I wear no deodorant at all, on either pit, and yet I am soaking on one side.

I feel like some sort of circus freak show act. Now I know how the big-and-burly-yet-shy-and-sensitive-black-man feels in the ad for Sure deodorant, everyone pointing and laughing at his white tiger marks while he's going about his daily business of being all cool and shit.

I'll book another consultation with the Good Doctor, see what he has to say for himself.