The sweat monster.
No matter the day, no matter the season.
I will perspire.
Through wife beaters, through shirts, on shoes, in the bar or on the patio.
Without regard to situation, or embarrassment.
Regardless if I’m hydrated or bone dry.
I will sweat.
On you if you aren’t careful.
Is this something I have come to grips with?
Will I survive, yes.
I surround myself with good people who get this and mostly ignore it
(or make fun of it).
You know who usually doesn’t get this?
I could be the most confident man in the world.
A brilliant, scientist/magician/quarterback/Le Cordon Blue Chef.
If I’m dripping sweaty from a walk around the lakes in 97+ degree heat, you will most likely not be impressed.
Shouldn’t he have mind control over it?
Shouldn’t he have antiperspirized his face?
Sorry ladies, I bleed liquid awkwardness from my pours.
Pay no attention to what is coming out of my mouth.
All that matters is that I’m pitting out and have the glisten of a freshly baked Cornish Game Hen.
What benefit is there from such a walk?
Well I couldn’t possibly look any worse, so I guess I’ll just keep on doing my awkward comment/over the top antidote / offensive joke thing.
Get it or don’t.
If you’re on board, bring a poncho.