The STYNX Effect

I get woken up by a varying amount of things. Sometimes it’s my alarm clock; sometimes it’s Dante’s alarm clock, sometimes it’s Dante doing an impression of his alarm clock (ask him). Sometimes I am merely awoken by the sounds of the family crashing about; apparently my dad must delicately balance nuclear warheads in the cereal cupboard, I must inform North Korea.

Although these things are not always as annoying as they sound, at least once a week I am awakened by neither of these. At least once a week I am awakened by my brother’s deodorant.
Yes, you heard right. It’s not the sound: although the average man (i.e. anyone I know that isn’t Xela) will stand for a quick pssst from his trusty can of Lynx or similar under each armpit, brother of mine is the noted exception and will empty almost half a can onto his underarms. It’s the smell.

And it’s enough to wake me up. Hence the need to blog about it.

Now don’t get me wrong, I do like a sniff of Lynx – and there’s the operative word. A sniff. I’m not saying you should all stop using it because I’d much rather smell a hard day’s work on every male companion I greet (put it this way, would you rather I didn’t meticulously shave my legs?), it’s just nice to not be overwhelmed.

I put this shortcoming slightly down to the fact that my brother, and in fact my boyfriend are both the ultimate consumer. They’re the conglomerate’s best friend. I must say I like Lynx’s adverts: the man made of chocolate*, the claymation caveman one, in fact the only one I didn’t like was the one where the bloke sprays from his armpits into people’s faces. And the idiot with the chameleon eyes that looks a bit like James Blunt.

But I digress. Every time there’s a new Lynx out, you can bet that it’ll be on the bathroom counter at mine before the weekend. The only problem with this is that, instead of attracting me, the advert’s example of a nubile young woman (okay, without the massive knockers and cinched-in waist, I’m not a bloody model, you won’t catch me running down a High Street in a bikini without someone having financed it heavily), it repulses me now. I have to make Dante leave the room when he sprays it, and this morning Xel’s aerosol antics actually made my throat swell up. This of course may necessitate a trip to the doctors, proving that if a woman hates anything enough it’ll cause her to break out in hives/ swell up like a Jigglypuff who just got a parking ticket**.

So men, please heed my call. If you spray too much, the only things you will attract will be unwanted attention. And an angry visit from me with a fly-swatter.

Oh and for your reference, the adverts I mentioned:

Chocolate Chap

Caveman Capers

Evil Eyes

Sweaty Seepings

*That spray smells nothing like chocolate; obviously the people who made it think it does.

** This analogy is bought to you by someone who plays too much Pokemon Diamond.