I’m a sweater.

It’s unladylike, but I sweat.

I don’t perspire or glow or get a little dewy.

I really sweat.

Yesterday I went out for a walk and when I came back my hair was wet. I looked like had just taken a shower. Granted, it was an unusually humid day, but a little walk shouldn’t have made me look like I had stuck my head in a bucket of water.

They say it’s healthy to sweat. That the evaporation on your skin is cooling. But it doesn’t feel healthy or cool. It feels gross. And sometimes embarrassing.

When I was in college, I often served as an electrician for theatrical productions.

One of the requirements of the job was climbing a tall A-frame ladder and the single ladder extension at the very top. I can’t remember the exact height, but it was something like 30 feet.

In order to work on the lights from atop the ladder, I had to become adept at swinging one of my legs around so I could straddle the top rungs. That was the only way to be secure while using both hands for tasks like changing lamps and focusing.

Despite my size and lack of grace, it didn’t take me to long to master this leg swing and after a few times, I could even control my legs from shaking as I stood up there.

What I couldn’t control was the sweat. I would literally drip down onto the stage.

I wasn’t sweating in fear, it was just hot up there. Especially when the lights were on. But I always thought people would think it was fear that was causing me to drip.

Then there was the chance that I’d become do damp that I’d touch a light and electrocute myself.

Luckily my job now is in a nice, cool office. I don’t have to worry about bodily harm or coworkers doubting my ability because of sweat.

I just have to use the greenroom shower if I decide to take a walk at lunchtime.

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