Up front, let’s just all understand that I am the Sweatloaf in question from the title. At this point I have no earthly idea where the term came from. It is probably some witty term I heard somewhere, sometime. Or it’s one of those fabulous tidbits that tumble out of my head without trying. The assignment of the conditional nickname came very early on in what would become my marriage to Di.
Spending a lot of time together as those in courtship will, it was inevitable that Di would get to experience me in the dripping condition that has earned me the the title. If you’re sitting there thinking that this was good ol’ me in a post-workout lather, well, you’d be marginally correct. The fact of the matter is that I just sweat for very little reason. Some women will be heard saying, “Oh I just cry at the drop of a hat.” I pretty much sweat at the drop of a hat. And hopefully you astute readers also noted the neat implied allusion there with the dripping water analogy and… ok I’ll get back to the point.
Any kind of working out, yardwork, being outside from Spring to Fall (except doing stuff like shoveling snow), toting heavy shit, thinking really hard, and intense sleeping will get me sweaty. There are degrees, of course, and I’d note that I’m not describing some icky medical condition here. I can, however, leave a puddle after activity like running or summer yardwork. Humidity is particularly conducive to this condition. While the downside to this probably needs no detailing, I can point out that I have extremely clean pores. I only wish I gave a crap about that. Luckily I don’t start to reek immediately, which at least can carry me along until I can get a shower.
The bright spot here, of course, is that in spite of my bizarre aspects, I am loved.