I was up at the crack of dawn this morning (reminded me of the 'old days') to bring my older brother to the airport. Later, talking to my sister-in-law, she reminded me of the 'plum' story. She classifies it is one of my 'I don't think I would have told that' stories. (Oops! I feel a story coming on....)

During my last years in San Francisco, I loved getting up early on a free day, hopping on my $100 Target bike and peddling my ass out to Ocean Beach. I'd stop at the 7-11, 3 blocks from the beach, buy some diet Mountain Dew, a hot-dog and Cheetos and spend the rest of the day with the sand molding my butt, the sun doing its damage, and a good book to enjoy. Two or three times each year, I get to do the same in Duluth!! Believe it or not, we have all the same things...Sand, sea grass, sea-gulls, and Diet Mountain Dew.

The particularly memorable day in San Francisco was hot. Not just your regular hot. It was Africa Hot! There wasn't even a little breeze to cool things off and for once Ocean Beach wasn't a refuge from the heat. Even the ocean seemed overcome by the heat and the surfers dinged around waiting for waves that never came. When I stopped at the 7-11, I was hot and sweaty. The Cheetos weren't appetizing and in some crazy moment of sheer healthful insanity, I bought 4 fresh plums. (To go with my Diet Mountain Dew and hot-dog) About three hours later the blazing sun and humidity won the battle and I decided to pack it up. I don't like to leave my garbage on the beach so I packed away the stickty plum pits and hot-dog remains in a sack and stuffed them into my shoulder bag. I will skip the 100 degree (unusual for SF) ride home but suffice to say, it was hell. I hung the bike on the wall just as the phone rang. A friend invited me to a movie (starting in 30 minutes..hurry hurry) and without pause dashed to the bus stop. While sitting on the bus I became aware of an unusual (for me) situation. Something didn't smell very good.

I am not a sweater. I use deoderant to stave off any untoward aromas and sometimes most liberally apply one of several brands of men's cologne. My shampoo smells like something natural, as does my bath soap. My toothpaste is minty as is my mouthwash. I sometimes use lotion and that smells nice. On any given day, I am a cornucopia of wonderful scent. Not on this day. I did the armpit sniff and although not perfect, decided they were acceptable. I pulled at the collar of my t-shirt and smelled the beach. What was the offender? Think about this. When you sit properly, your nose is directly above your crotch. EEEEOOO! Crotch smell. All the bike riding, the heat, the sand and the sun defeated the wonders of science. Too many nooks and crannies. And here I was about to sit next to a friend, in the dark, eating popcorn, with a crotch problem. I couldn't think of a solution until I remembered the bag of beach detrius in my shoulder pack. I retrieved the remains of the four plums...pits and the sticky plum flesh still adhering to them. Grabbing the juicy wad of fruit remains in the palm of my hand, I reached into my shorts and vigorously rubbed the mess in every fold, wrinkle and crevice. When I pulled out my hand it felt as if I'd wet my pants. For good measure I gave each armpit a bit of attention and wiped my sticky hand on the seat of my shorts.

Desparate times call for desparate actions. I rose to the challenge. The proof was when my friend, sitting next to me in the theater, said, "You smell good." As my sister-in-law would say..."I don't think I would have told that story."

"...in the good old summer time.."

Rob

PS: CK came out with a new men"s cologne called Be Delicious. It always reminds me of this story. Do you think Calvin Kline ever used some apple remains in an emergency?