Sweat, et cetera

Yesterday I went for a walk around the neighborhood, which is something I love to do now that we’ve moved and a great way to start the day. My new route is a hilly, 2.5-mile loop with lots of good shady spots, sidewalks, and pretty gardens to peer into. Yesterday the air even felt just a touch cooler than it has been lately — or perhaps it was just less humid, or perhaps I got an earlier start, I’m not sure. The change was nice, whatever it was.

So I tucked my phone into my tank-top strap like I always do, with the screen facing outward so it wouldn’t get sweaty, and listened to a podcast while I walked. Lovely. When I got home, I looked at my phone to see that despite my cautious measures, sweat had worked its way inside the screen and left dark watermarks all down the right side. Otherwise, it was normal and fully operational. The left side of the screen looked perfectly fine, but the right side looked like it had been stained with blueberry juice. This was decidedly not good.

After panicked googling and then drying the phone out in a bowl of rice for the rest of the day, it’s fine now and the stains are gone. But that’s not the point. The point is that I can walk slowly, for a short distance, at the crack of dawn, on a cooler-than-usual morning, and still sweat so much that I almost break an incredibly expensive piece of technology. With my sweat. I almost ruined my iPhone with my own bodily secretions. Things are getting dire over here and there are still at least six more weeks of this weather before relief is anywhere in sight. Pray. For. Mojo.

In an ongoing list of other bodily secretions, things to have made me cry lately include: TV commercials, books, blog posts, photography, software, DIY projects, and budget discussions. I am not a crier, y’all. I have been joking around with CW about the fact that my ocular ports are going to start rusting. My emotions are generally on an even keel, which, combined with my knowledge of factual trivia and my tendency to respond to all questions literally, has led to my husband jokingly referring to me as a “beautiful, beautiful robot.” It seems like my pregnancy was bundled with some sort of rudimentary human emotion replication software that got installed at the same time. This program can’t be running correctly, though, can it? Surely Lean Cuisine commercials shouldn’t initiate the weeping sequence?

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