For the first time in two years, I actually went clothes-shopping yesterday. One of my finds, a vintage red-shirt, I sported out dancing last night. A couple songs into my usual routine I noticed the shirt wasn’t quite hanging right. I looked in the mirror and noticed a deep dark wet spot growing between my shoulder blades. Two more songs and my entire back was sopping wet—we’re talkin’ sweat on the order of having-just-run-five-miles kind of sweat. At this point, the shirt had effectively cemented onto my back and set up an osmotic gradient from which no moisture could escape. Embarrassed I was.
Now, I’m a profuse sweater, this I’ve accepted about myself; I usually have the good sense to wear something that masks it. In this case though, the dark wet spots contrasted against the shirt’s dry-brightness advertising my repulsiveness to all. Snickering surrounded me, so I retreated to a new spot on the floor where my back would be to the wall. At this point I went over my options. I could: 1) let my self-consciousness defeat me and leave 2) trust in evaporation and rest in some dark (soon to be dank) corner 3) keep dancing as I had been and: a. experience how sweat-drenched my shirt could become and b. observe how people react to my wretched condition. Anyone familiar with my inquisitive nature could tell you which option I chose; I danced on. Surprisingly, nobody confronted me about it. A few brave souls even got within a five-foot radius of me. That’s more than I would have done had our places been switched. Perhaps my doctrine of tolerance for things unusual in goth/industrial clubs was being reciprocated.
Driving home, dehydrated, I stopped at QFC for some Gatorade. “Whoa man, what have you been up to? Your shirt is soaked!” exclaimed the 2am checker. I said I hadn’t noticed.
2 replies on “50% Rayon, 30% Polyester, 20% Cotton… Way to Go Mr. Suave”
Hellooooooooooooooooooo.
I went to the doctor last night (rare occurrence, I hate them), and had a very creepy experience. I have a cold, need some antibiotics for a sinus infection. He made sure I knew that they do “female exams, you know, paps.” How do I take that?
That dude needs to work on his bedside manner. I guess he brought it up to save you a trip to the lady doctor or whatever. His timing could have been a bit better though.