In The Pits

THE SHORT VERSION
I found a new seat.

THE LONG VERSION
Tonight I had the, umh, privilege of attending Kevin's high school choir concert. Traci, being more privileged than I, got to stay home with the younger boys. The start of the concert was delayed, due to getting behind schedule in taking pictures of the four different choirs that were singing. Luckily, the school bands did not play, like they did at the Christmas concert, which lasted almost three hours.

During a song by the first choir (Kevin's choir was fourth!), the high school students sitting behind me started fake singing (sorta, but not really, attempting, and failing, to be funny) along with the singers on stage. Even more irritating, was the odor that I noticed. I couldn't determine its source, but I was guessing either (a) foot or (b) death. Not noticing any bare feet or deceased within my range of vision, I guessed that the odor was attacking me from behind - possibly with the wannabe choirsters.

After taking a casual half turn to the back, I learned that one of my theories was correct, and one was wrong. The stench was emanating from the young man right behind me. He was alive, and I didn't need to look at his feet, because he was displaying his armpits to my face - wearing a tank top, with his hands locked behind his head, and his elbows pointing at the ceiling. After getting beyond the shock factor, and realizing that I just spend part of my life basically in this guy's armpits after he was sweating all day in the heat and continuing to sweat in the non-air-conditioned auditorium, I waited for the song to end, got up from my seat, and found a new seat - in the back - away from people.

MORAL OF THE STORY
Life stinks if you live in the pits. Make a change.