Cut It Out, Sun

Dear White Shirt That I Wore Outside Without An Undershirt On This Crazy Hot Day: You were a mistake. No offense, but it is over 100 degrees out, and I am sweating right through you. It’s only a matter of time before my nipples will be easily seen as you become translucent from my husky man flop sweat.

I wore you because you are made of a light material and the lightest of colors. I didn’t wear my usual white shirt necessitated undershirt because I figured the less layers the more better. These seemed like good ideas as I forced myself to leave my air conditioned room for the first time today in order to see humans and not be a hermit.

But it is stupid hot.

That reminds me…

Dear Increasingly Too-Tight Blue Jeans I Also Wore Outside On The Hottest Day Ever: Rare is the occasion that I regret my ardent anti-shorts stance. This is such an occasion. This is one of those rarest of times. It is like an oven in my nether regions. It is most unpleasant, and perhaps showing more leg and getting some air up in there would help. Maybe I should’ve worn shorts. (I refuse to even consider my anti-sandals rule, but it’s coming close that.)

Dear Sweat Glands: What the hell? Are you seriously the best cooling system God or Evolution or some superstar team up of the two could come up with? How horrible! Salty water making a mess of my skin and clothes, often resulting in an onion odor is a sound way to prevent overheating? Seriously? Pretty dumb, Nature. Pretty dumb.

Dear Sun: It is Fall, you idiot. Cut it out. You dumb bastard.


Bah! That’s it. Next time the temperature rises above eighty, I’m not going outside, no matter what is happening. No matter how long I’ve been a shut in.

Way to go, heat.

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