I hate it. I absolutely hate to sweat. And yet there’s some kind of flaw in my DNA that makes me perspire at the slightest hint of exercise. Now that I’ve been working out at the gym regularly it’s getting worse. Is this some kind of sick joke? It’s like a punishment for getting in shape. Now all I have to do is vigorously wipe down the kitchen counter and a bead of sweat will appear on my brow. Damn you, glands!
Part of the reason I was happy to move to Los Angeles was because the humidity is nonexistent and summers are bearable, unlike in the Midwest and the South. I thought that surely I would have no sultry evenings in which my hair stuck to my forehead. Surely L.A. would be the escape from feeling sticky only hours after bathing, but no.
Friends assure me they cannot see me sweating. Sometimes I get really self-conscious about it and I whisper, and by whisper I mean yell loudly so everyone can hear, “Can you tell I’m sweating?” And people say, “No, only you can tell you’re sweating.”
To these people, may I present Exhibit A:
In the current season of my obsessive “Prison Break” watching (shh, don’t tell me anything), they are in Panama and sweating. All. The. Time. Excessively sweating. And you can totally tell! Sometimes they’re in supposed air-conditioned environments and still the beads rain from their foreheads. I get it. They’re in Panama. It’s hot. But I’m sitting in my chair and feeling the urge to apply more deodorant to my armpits. I am imagining a pool of sweat forming behind my knees. Let the madness stop!
It’s 2012. Can’t we figure out a way to keep ourselves cool without all the waterworks? Maybe some kind of nanobots that wick the sweat away before it even thinks about forming on your skin?
Unfortunately Alexa has inherited my sweating gene. Now that the temperatures are rising outside she has a few little heat rashes that are being stubborn. And if she throws a tantrum the top of her head goes from 98.6 degrees to approximately 1,000 degrees in 5.1 seconds. Thankfully she’s a child and hasn’t yet developed a hatred for sweating. It’s only a matter of time, though, so can we get on the nanobots before these escaped convicts in “Prison Break” give me a virtual heatstroke?
