Fighting profuse, uncontrollable perspiration is a fool's errand, yet so many of us find ourselves hoping today will be the day we stay dry for five goddamn minutes.
Still, there is a kinship among those who can't stop sweating and a few truths we have embraced.
Cruising for a hookup at the gym is a non-starter.
No, absurdly hot instructor, I don't need an ambulance.
Appearing believable, whether you're lying or not, is impossible.
Fine. F*ck it. I'm guilty, always.
Any formal wear you buy is ruined within minutes.
HELLO, FAMILY. I AM THE THING THAT LIVES IN THE CHRISTMAS SWAMP.
Appearing composed for a presentation at work is but a distant dream.
Is all officewear made of wool, nylon and lava???
Hours spent styling your hair are rendered wasted the moment you put your coat on.
Or pick up a bag. Or walk downstairs. Or breathe. Or move.
Summertime is a sleepless hell.
Three months might as well be an eternity.
When your friends are apple picking in cute fall coats, you're looking for shade under any tree.
Strolling in 50-degree weather in a fleece is essentially a walk over hot coals.
You know death is near the moment your parents decide to roll down the car windows instead of blasting the AC.
Cool, Mom, but unless you're planning on driving 200 mph, I'm going to melt all over the back seat of your Hyundai.
You think back on middle school and wonder why you ever wanted boobs so badly.
Actually, I'm not lactating. I'm just a complete beast of a woman.
Your bae pretends your intense perspiration is something “everybody does,” but your friends are brutally honest.
Stop calling me "Sweat Midler" and asking me what it was like to play a sweaty witch in “Soak-us Pocus.”
Preparing for sex is a humbling, pointless endeavor.
This is a real what-you-see-is-what-you-get deal.
Everyone is constantly assuming you're a whore in church.
Neither congregation would have me. Trust, I've tried.
Functional deodorant is a thing of mythical legend.
At this point, the stick you rub under your arms every morning is basically just ceremonial.
When your friends invite you to ~*da club*~, you know to show up in your underwear.
I'm not trying to be sexy; I'm trying to survive.
No matter what, you're proud of your fresh-from-the-ocean glisten...
...because this is your very own damp, panicked journey to enlightenment.
Sweaties for life.