Gross

I ran into an old coworker this morning on the train. He’d apparently been standing next to me for three stops before I noticed.

“I was respecting your morning privacy,” he said, when I asked him how long he’d been standing there.

This would have been totally fine, fantastic in fact, especially the part about him actually understanding subway etiquette. But I was, of course, sweating balls, so I was horribly embarrassed.

Many people think of themselves as sweaty, but I totally win in any sweaty person contast. When my former coworker said hello, I was trying to wrestle my way out of my jacket while preventing my makeup from dripping onto my dress. A pale beige droplet of sweaty makeup runoff had just plopped onto an innocent bystander’s knee. She was horrified, and who could blame her.

I never run into people when I’m appropriately attired. It appears to be a law. Perhaps I will start riding the rails in my underpants. At least then no one will notice my perspiring problem.

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