Why I shaved my armpits
Google seems to think we invented the term Spaghetti Pits, i thought i had heard it outside the commune. This Kathryn’s story of her personal journey with them and observations about who they disappeared from our collective consciousness for a while, only to rear their ugly heads again.
It was my birthday, and I was enjoying a good cuddle, drifting contentedly into that sleepy in-between state, when my partner’s words pulled me abruptly back to full consciousness. “I think you have spaghetti pits.”
I haven’t heard talk of spaghetti pits in years. When I was a newish member, spaghetti pits were a common topic of conversation during the summer, following a close third behind conversations involving either the comparison of bathing habits or the difference between grits and hominy. It was commonplace to see people squinting at each other’s armpits, looking for the telltale orange halo on the hairs, trying to determine who could claim to have the worst case. Spaghetti pits were a badge of honor amongst the unattached twenty-something communards, proof that a) you did not shave your body hair; b) you sweated, which often implied physical work; c) you were not a daily bather…
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