I'm just sweaty.
And don't get me wrong. I don't "glisten." I don't "sparkle" like some Twi-hard vampire. I don't "shimmer" either.
I am just - sweaty.
I know some of it has to do with my extra, er, fluff, as one may call it. But some of it, I think, is purely mental - as I'm starting to think I am.
I can't seem to go out in public without breaking into waves of panic and sweatiness. My perfectly coiffed hair? Sogged. My quickly-applied-but-heck-I-tried make-up? Heading toward chinsville. My freckles? Popped out like they were summoned by Abby the Sesame Street Flying Fairy.
I'm wondering if, in my stay-at-home-mom role, am I becoming a bit Agoraphobic or if it is, ya know, due to my fluffiness and my oh-so-stylish knee high compression garments that keep my swollen limbs in check.
Either way - I hate being sweaty.
That's why I don't exercise. Yeah... THAT'S it... :)
But with this blog I issue one final plea - please don't ask sweaty people WHY they're sweaty, or say asinine things like "Why are YOU sweaty? I'm fine!", or, even worse, make comments like "MAN! Your cheeks are RED!" or "The heat doesn't bother ME!". Because, and this is my promise, I Will--- Kill you. Okay- maybe not really - since, after all, a sweaty gal throwing a punch is probably gonna just slide right off your cool-to-the-touch cheek, right?
But I can fling sweat beads at you.
Yup - like a monkey with his poo - I will come for you.
(hmmm- I like that--- bumper sticker worthy??? hee hee).