Pit Check.

Locker room gauntlet.

“I was really hoping you’d leave the granny panties in middle school.”

Jennifer wasn’t the queen bee but she certainly had a habit of acting like one which was honestly a pretty ballsy move for someone who didn’t show up until the 6th grade.

It was springtime, the long-coveted lacrosse season. And we were in high school now which made it all the more exciting. We’d only recently gotten our uniforms and I’d gone home that day grinning at it laid out on my bed. Junior Varsity, but it didn’t matter to me.  

I didn’t have much to compare it to at the time, but our locker rooms were very nice. So nice people would begin loitering in there a lot earlier than they needed to. Wide benches. A small circle of couches with a coffee table. Giant showers. A boom box. The consistent scent of lavender. The school’s beloved physical trainer and health teacher right next door. But eventually, it always came time to strip down and get to work. 

Jennifer stood there side eying me with my pants off, proud of herself. I had no beef with her and mostly rolled my eyes at her antics. 

“What are you wearing, a thong?”

“At least I own one,” she said.

“I guess I’m not that eager to shove silk up my ass.”

To her credit, she laughed. 

“Pit check! Pit check!” Jennifer and her friends started saying in the freshmen locker area making their way down the bench. Different girls proudly lifted their arms, their armpits completely hairless. 

“I’m so glad she didn’t notice me,” I heard a teammate say during our warmup laps. “I really should’ve shaved this morning but ran out of time.” 

For some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about that for the rest of practice.

“Pit check! Pit check!” some girls shouted similarly a few weeks later. One girl started laughing when she was approached before she lifted her arm to the side a little. People poked fun at the tiny bits of visible hair. 

I took off my shirt, walked over to them, and did my best impression of a magazine pose with my arms folded over my head, growing out armpit hair on display. 

“Th pits of a girl versus the pits of a woman,” I said. 

The laughter continued accompanied by a few jovial screams. But by the next lacrosse season, there were no more pit checks.