Cry me a river. Sweat me the sea
The last couple of days, I’ve been trying to answer the age-old q. The question even the master, Plum, couldn’t answer in his seminal work on this subject – Sam, the Sudden. *
Oh, sorry. The q – “What do you mind more? The heat, or the humidity?” I am afraid my views on this subject of all subjects are wildly unreliable – swinging this way once and the other way the seconce. The afternoon, I’d answer without a moment’s hesitation, ‘Tis the heat, surely’. The evenings find me reconsidering the folly of the a.m. Perhaps, maybe, the heat wasn’t as oppressive as the 90% relative humidity.
To top it all, my cousin’s entering holy-matrimony. And one finds oneself shuttling from pillar, post, office and wedding-venue all day. Last evening was the worst offender. Three shirts were changed into. Three were soaked through and through. Sun-tan creams, deos and nycil have long since given up the fight.
Excuse me now, gentle folks. I need to go, fill the next bucket.
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*I think it was Sam the Sudden – where the Omni-present narrator asks the same question to the citizenry of New York.
It’s the humidity! I’ve been back and forth between here and Madurai for the past few weeks and, while I can do my business in the hot sun there, I come here and within a couple of hours the humidity just kills me.
It’s humidity. Sweat stinks (literally and figuratively).
Why do we to have to choose between devil and the deep sea? :)