I found myself stumbling around Times Square in NYC last week when I snapped this photo in front of a Lulu Lemon sign. It then ran on the Huffington Post
That awkward moment when you’re walking home from work, with a brief case dangling around your arm and mutters of hunger echoing in your stomach, when you suddenly think it’s raining out only to realize that it’s just you, sweating profusely, tear drops of water dropping from your collar bone to your tail bone, penetrating through the pretty patterns of cotton that is clinging to your flesh.
My fever-breaking sweat comes out to play when I am shuffling my feet, waiting on the subway platform for the train to come. Spend more than a minute down there during the summer time and you’ll come above ground looking like you just walked out of a sauna, a Turkish bath, a good night of dancing.
I was born on a peninsula of year round sunshine, moved to a city with extreme seasons, and have found myself again, facing a summer where I am constantly the result of the law of gravity when it comes to sweat.
My solutions, my way of easing into soaking wet clothes before 9am and extreme thirst and praying to the weather.com gods for some below 70 degree temperatures include: constant hair ties to pull back the mop on my head, coffee filters to blot the squirts off my make up (thank you sorority recruitment), becoming mutual friends with neighborhood fans and remembering that before I know it (and hopefully after I finally store my ‘parka’ and jolly green giant snow boots away), it will be winter again.
BE WHO YOU ARE, EVEN IN 90 + DEGREES!
[Happy 4th of July, my friends!]
