"Well, HELLO there..." says David.
"Hiya. Don't get excited. This isn't for you," I say, standing naked in our bedroom.
Even though the weather in Southern Ontario this summer is not steaming hot, it's still humid. The kind of humid that starts you sweating not 30 seconds after you've had a cool shower to get rid of all your sweat. Add to that a half-assed attempt at drying your hair before you go to work, and you have the perfect storm for full-body sweats - every single pore wet (even your freaking shins) - right before you need to clothe that sweaty body in workplace attire.
A 'quick fix' solution leaps into my head. It nearly convinces me to roll on the carpet to dry myself off; the cat hair from my elderly shedding feline which covers the carpet's surface (even right after I have just vacuumed it), and would also leave me resembling Sasquatch, makes me pause. I refuse to waste a newly washed towel to soak up the sweat... so I now find myself buck naked, ass-end presented to the standing fan which I have set to a near-gale force level - NUMBER 3 - on the control panel. The fan blows so hard that my entire body has developed goosebumps. This is, of course, when David walks in.
"I'm quick drying so that I can get dressed."
He looks crestfallen.
"Find me a supply of shammies and we'll talk."