I was born and raised in the greater Chicagoland metro area, where summers are usually hot and humid, and I have never been a stranger to perspiration. It’s in my genes. I come from a long line of sweaters. My grandfather on my mother’s side dug ditches by hand for a living, as well as for fun. I’m not kidding. He was still taking side jobs into his early 80’s, just to stay active. I was a teenager at the time and on ocassion, I would go on jobs with him. For the life of me, I could not keep up with that man. He was unstoppable. Even at age 80, he was several inches shorter than me, but every bit as wide, but none of it was fat. Alas, I inherited neither my grandfather’s physical strength nor his stamina. Instead, I inherited his sweat glands.
My son enjoys reminding me of the time I opted to cut his hair outside, in the warm summer sun, so that I could work quickly and not have to cleanup indoors. He got a terriffic haircut out of the arrangement, but as I hovered over him, working feverishly as the summer sun beat down on us, he began comparing the experience to that of getting a haircut in a light rainstorm. I just laughed about it, mopped him off with a handtowel, and continued cutting.
There are other stories like that, but the theme is consistent. Sweat doesn’t simply form. It drips. It falls. And depending upon the level of physical activity, it flies. That’s my Iuliano heritage. Humans are made up of something like 70% salt water. Some of us wear it all on the inside…
Hey, for whatever it’s worth, I shower daily. Thanks for hanging with me.
Try less insulating facial fur, it will add a cool chin breeze.
Unlikely, but thanks for stopping by.
Lots of sweaty hipsters here in Portland, Oregon. They usually scrape it off in summer and fluff out again by November like grizzlies.
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