Wednesday, September 26, 2012

I'm Too Sweaty for My Shirt, Too Sweaty for My Shirt, So Sweaty It Hurts1

In northern climes, summer may be a receding memory, but here, it's just winding down. (Highs in the mid 80s instead of mid 90s.) I'll miss it. I like sweating. I like not wearing a shirt.2 After Isaac, our AC was out for the better part of two weeks, and the whole time, I think I only wore a shirt to go to work. (Well, that's a slight exageration: I also wore a shirt to the grocery store. No shirt, no shoes, no service.) We flung open all the doors and windows and let the warm breeze blow through: not so bad.3

Fall, I'm happy to see you come, but summer, I'm sorry to see you go. Until next time.

1 You'll now have that song stuck in your head all day. You're welcome. I shake my little tush on the catwalk... 

2 I attribute my fondness for going shirtless to the redneck branches of my family tree. I attribute my fondness for stifling heat to the Creole branches, who spent three-hundred years in this Yellow Jack-infested sauna-swamp.

3 So say I. Sarah, on the other hand, was not amused at all.


  1. Slimbo, I want to know who(where) is the redneck side of your family? Your Virginia family is FFV(First Families of Virginia) having been here since the 1600s and no rednecks are we!! Just asking!

    1. Oh, Mom, I know our tree is a big old Virginia oak, but you can't deny there are some redneck twigs on there.

    2. I hate to admit, Slimbo, that there are some redneck twigs there but some married in!!!