Poll: Is Extreme Heat or Extreme Cold The Most Humiliating?
Today, I was gallivanting around Dallas, Texas in 102 degree heat. And not just any heat, but sticky, raging, sun-stroke-inducing heat. It’s not some pansy-ass Arizona heat that’s as dry as a drunk on Easter Sunday, but heat that pickpockets your internal store of water and shoves it out of your pores like it’s mad at them. It wears you the fuck down with its inescapable fury. I mean you can see heat like this. You look up in the air and it’s made everything look like the inside of a lava lamp — roads, skies, even other people. Or was I about to faint?
The worst thing about heat is how it makes everyone its bitch. I mean it really highlights the serial humiliations of the human condition. I went to work in what I thought was a frock, but turned out to be the vessel by which I deposited sweat onto everything I sat on. My very lovely coworker allowed me into her very expensive car and when I got up — OH GAWD — there was sweat on the seat. I mean, I am not surprised. I don’t think that the area behind my knees was dry for even one moment. Is it possible to get a yeast infection behind your knees?
I really feel sorry for the men I saw. They basically had a sweat-vest on. And the butt-sweat! Oh, the butt sweat. I am thankful that I do not have as much hair as men, because you can really actually see the swampy, smelly, slickery-wet mark of Texas heat on the crook of their bohunks. I don’t want to even think about their balls. I mean, some men wear baby powder to help — but I’d have to think it would be like paste at that point, essentially like a papier maché cast of their junk.
The heat makes bitches of both men and women alike, making us engage in this constant little dance of trying (fruitlessly) to inconspicuously wipe sweat from our lips, foreheads and every appendage that the sun hits with its abusive rage. We try to pretend like we’re real suave, ordering our street tacos or taking a stroll to grab a latte, but we all see each other for what we really are. Just mules of evolution, carrying forward disgusting traits like eyebrows that exist in large part to keep things like dirty sweat our of our exhausted, sun-beaten eyes. We’re all just a few days away from The Lord of the Fucking Flies, batting each other down for a place in the shade.
I have to think that the cold is not this humiliating. I mean, snow is a wonderful treat. It’s fluffy and inviting. It’s what happens in movies when they want to show you that things are peaceful. And a crisp, cold morning? That’s practically a gift from God. Just getting up and pulling a sweater over a snug pear of jeans and adorable boots. Am I wrong? Canadians? Northerners? Is there any part of cold that’s humiliating?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to BECOME THIS MAN. TO TRANSFORM INTO HIM.